


At Last

by AbsRuthSJML



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b, Baker street boys, Edinburgh, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Post Season Four, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24449218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsRuthSJML/pseuds/AbsRuthSJML
Summary: After the hell of Eurus, John moves back into Baker Street with his daughter. The threat of a new criminal finds the team travelling to Edinburgh, where new faces and old pose trouble. Mycroft and Greg have a bet that needs to last until Christmas for Greg to win... However, Greg thinks he'll lose before they get back to London.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 51





	1. Chapter 1

After the hell of Eurus had died down, and Sherlock had explained everything to Molly, gaining an understanding from her, John and Rosie moved into Baker Street, with John not being able to afford the mortgage on his house in the suburbs and that, without Mary, the house feeling empty. Baker Street had been brought back to its former glory, after the explosion, thanks to Mycroft's hired team, who had been a massive help. However, until John moved back in, Sherlock didn't feel fully safe. The flood gates had opened when it came to Sherlock's emotions and feelings, but every time he looked at John, he felt something that he couldn't put into words. It felt like he was flying and falling all at the same time, and he knew that he would do anything for both John and Rosie.

A week before John and Rosie were due to move back in, Sherlock woke up to find Mycroft in his living room, already drinking a cup of tea, which Sherlock figured had come from Mrs Hudson.

"Ah... Brother Mine. I was wondering when you'd eventually wake up.", Mycroft smirked, before taking another sip of his tea.

"I was up until late, Mycroft, as you very well know, trying to console Mother. She still won't see sense, I'm afraid. No matter how many times I tell her you did it to protect us."

"That's why I'm here... I want to thank you, William."

"It is you that I should be thanking, Mycroft."

"It was the least I could do.", Mycroft replied, sharing a very genuine, rare, smile with his brother, before taking his leave, muttering to himself about the upcoming Russian elections.

Sherlock, as much as they fought, knew that Mycroft had everyone's best interests at heart, especially when it came to himself. The amount of times Mycroft had sat with him whilst he was coming down from a high, or paid his rent, or had even sat and watched him sleep, just to make sure, was enough to see how Mycroft cared for his brother. Sherlock and his brother had an unspoken rule between them, in that neither of them mentioned any of these things, but both were grateful of each other all the same. Sherlock continued to work on communicating with his sister, also, desperate for her to realise that she was forgiven, and that he was there for her, knowing what being lonely felt like.

Sherlock had broken the news, that they had found Victor, to Victor's parents. It was the hardest thing he had ever done - even harder than leaving John behind for two years whilst he tracked down and put a stop to Moriarty's criminal network. John had been there for him, that day. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. He was just there. Sherlock was more than grateful for his support. Things had been that way ever since John had broken down in front of Sherlock. In that moment, John needed him, and as Sherlock pulled him close, he knew that their support for each other ran deep.

The day that John moved back into Baker Street was the probably the best day Sherlock had experienced in a while. Sherlock helped John unpack the few boxes he had, and kept Rosie entertained with a game of knee bouncing and tickling whilst John sorted his and Rosie's clothes into the wardrobe of his old room.

Whilst Sherlock was tickling a giggling Rosie, giggling himself, he heard, "Well, I never thought I'd see the day..."

He turned around, picking Rosie up, and smiling at John widely. "I never thought it'd happen, either."

"She loves you, you know, Sherlock. Last time I brought her round, she was all smiley, remember? As soon as I got her home, she went hysterical, shouting at me to bring her back. She was clean. She wasn't hungry or thirsty. She wasn't even in pain. The only valid reason is that she missed you.", John explained, stroking Rosie's hair, who had now snuggled into Sherlock's shoulder and fallen asleep.

A tear escaped the corner of Sherlock's eye. It did that a lot now, much to his annoyance and John's amusement. Neither man said anything, they just smiled, as John wiped the stray tear away by brushing his thumb over Sherlock's cheek softly.

Sherlock, one day (about two weeks after John had come back to Baker Street), found himself with a dilemma. Greg Lestrade had called with one of the best cases he'd seen in a while, but John had taken a part time job at the surgery, and Sherlock was looking after Rosie. Molly, herself, was working, and Mrs Hudson was staying with her sister, so it left Sherlock with no choice. He strapped Rosie to his back, in the new carrier he had bought, with it being easier than pushing her around in a pram all the time and set off towards the crime scene dropping John a text.

Case of the century, John! Definitely a 12 out of 10... Have Rosie with me - will leave her with an officer while I work - SH

Even Sherlock understood that taking a one-and-a-half-year-old child to a triple murder scene would potentially scar them for life. Well, he understood that now, after the whole Archie situation from John's wedding had left John shouting at Sherlock for his 'stupidity'.

John replied as Sherlock arrived:

Ok, but I find out that my daughter has been anywhere near any dead bodies then it will be your murder they are investigating next - JW

Fair enough - SH

Rosie was left with a blonde police constable, while Greg filled Sherlock in in the details.

"Ok, so we have a family of three: father, mother and daughter. The last person to see them alive was the daughter's boyfriend. All three victims were tied to their beds, with their faces blown off - it's not pretty."

"Has anything been taken? Money, for example?", Sherlock asked.

"Only what was in the daughter's purse, which looks to have been about £20... Everyone in the area knows the family well. The father was rich, with his own company, and was known to pay for everything by cheque or card. He never kept any money on him or in the house."

"Ok. Thanks, Greg. I'll see what I can do."

Sherlock walked around the girl's bedroom first, noting her open diary, where she had written about the night before. It read:

Danny came over tonight. We watched TV for a bit and then ordered and Indian, when Dad came home. Thankful that Dad likes him. Goodnight came when Danny left at around half ten, on his motorbike. I spoke to Dad for a while longer and then we both went to bed.

Sherlock observed the simplicity of the entry, but noted that when the boyfriend left, the family were still alive, and that there were no clashes with the father and the boyfriend not getting on. Sherlock looked around the rest of the rooms of the house, noting how the phone lines had been cut, and how there were three mobile phones smashed to pieces in the kitchen bin. This was no ordinary murder, as any idiot could see, but what Sherlock could also see was that the murderer was not known to the area or the family - perhaps working on a tip off of some kind.

Just as he was leaving the house, to go and get Rosie from the constable, a cab pulled up and John stepped out.

Smiling, John asked, "Anything interesting?"

"Very. Come on... I'll fill you and Lestrade in at the same time. I just need to get Rosie."

Both men reached a crying Rosie, to find the constable doing everything she could to try and stop her crying.

"I'm sorry, Mr Holmes... She just keeps asking for her Papa.", the woman explained.

"Er, do you mean, Dada? That's what she calls him.", Sherlock asked, looking at John, who mirrored his confusion.

"No. She was definitely saying Papa. Anyway, here... Look who is here, Rosie!", she replied.

"Dada! Papa!", Rosie squealed, launching herself at the men, who caught her together, still looking extremely confused.

"Rosie? Who is Dada?", Sherlock asked, causing Rosie to point at John.

"And who is Papa?", John asked. Rosie pointed at Sherlock, who immediately froze, the way he had when John had asked him to be his best man.

"Mrs Hudson. It'll have been Mrs Hudson... Congrats, Sherlock. You're a Dad."

"But, I, erm, really? You're not mad?", Sherlock asked.

"Why would I be mad? I was going to ask if you'd adopt Rosie, anyway. I mean, so we could co-parent. She has already lost her mum, and she needs someone if anything happens to me. It makes sense for it to be you.", John explained.

Sherlock then began crying, but not understanding why. "I don't understand. I'm not sad; I'm the complete opposite. I'm overjoyed, so why am I crying?"

"It happens, mate.", John chuckled, once again wiping away Sherlock's tears tenderly.

To anyone watching, they had the perfect family unit, but to many looked like John and Sherlock were a couple. Lestrade watched on from a distance with a smile, needing to talk to Sherlock, but not wanting to disturb their family moment. Lestrade, instead, turned away and called his partner to tell him all about it. But, knowing Mycroft, he probably already knew.


	2. Chapter Two

After their small revelation, John and Sherlock climbed into a taxi, with Rosie insisting that they sit directly next to each other so she could sit on both of them. Realising he'd forgotten about the case, in the beautifulness of the moment, Sherlock texted Lestrade.

Come by later and bring your partner. He will be interested to hear what I have found - SH

How did you know? Never mind, I'll be around at sixish - GL

Send my brother my best wishes - SH

"Lestrade is coming around later about the case, and he is bringing his boyfriend with him.", Sherlock informed John when they had arrived home.

"I didn't know Greg was into men."

"Neither did he until he met my brother.", Sherlock chuckled to himself, wanting to see the shock on John's face when he realised.

John popped out for some milk and other bits, once again, leaving Sherlock with Rosie. She was bouncing up and down on his lap, staring at his face, looking confused.

"What is it Rosie?"

"What’s that?", Rosie asked him, placing her finger on his nose.

"That is my nose. You have one too."

"Nose.", Rosie copied, beaming.

"That's it! Well done, Rosie!", Sherlock exclaimed, placing a kiss to the little girl’s head of curls.

"What’s that?", Rosie asked again, pointing to Sherlock's eye.

"That is an eye, Rosie. We use them to see. We have two eyes. They send the image we are seeing to our brain where it translates it so we know what we are looking at."

"The optical nerve. I remember. And these are my eyes?", she asked pointing to her own eyes.

"That's right, Rosie. Well remembered.", Sherlock smiled, the feeling of pride swelling in his chest.

“What colour? Yours have lots of colours. What are mine?”, Rosie asked, concentration pulling her face tight and her mouth in a line.

“Yours change colour, Rosie. When you’re feeling sad or unhappy, they look greener. And when you’re happy and smiley, they look browner. But most of the time they look hazel coloured.”, Sherlock told her.

“Hazel? Mix of brown and green.”, Rosie beamed, knowing she was right. Sherlock felt tears pricking his eyes and he realised he couldn’t love her more.

"Papa? Papa is sad? Why are you crying, Papa?", Rosie asked, as Sherlock hadn't realised he was crying again.

"No, my sweet. Papa is very happy."

"Happy?"

"Yes, baby girl.", Sherlock smiled, pulling Rosie into his chest and hugging her.

Rosie pulled away, bringing her hand up to Sherlock's face, wiping away a tear, saying, "I’ll do what Dada does, Papa. It’s ok. All better now."

"Thank you, Rosie.", Sherlock smiled, amazed at how erudite the little girl was, with being only 21 months old.

Unbeknownst to the pair, John had witnessed the whole exchange between his daughter and his best friend, and knew that he was falling for Sherlock, hard. Before Sherlock went away for two years, John always thought that there could have been something, but then he met Mary and he fell in love with her, but he would always love Sherlock too. Other girlfriends had seen it. Everyone had, in fact, but John insisted upon their friendship being completely platonic, anytime it was mentioned. Now, after everything they had been through in the previous year and a half, John felt like the luckiest man alive. For starters, Sherlock had forgiven him when John had beaten him to a pulp, something that John still felt extremely guilty about. He'd also not judged him for talking to that other woman, which turned out to be his sister, behind Mary's back. Sherlock had gone through hell to get John back, and he had still supported him, donning the phrase 'it is what it is'. This, now, was perfect. He was back at Baker Street, and his best friend, whom he loved with every part of him, was as besotted with his child as he was. John knew that Sherlock and Mary got on like a house on fire, even going on cases together and leaving John to look after Rosie. In a way, that made it even harder for John, knowing he could have had with Sherlock what he had with Mary, but that it was too late. John had blamed Sherlock for Mary's death, Mary had taken a bullet for him, knowing that John would pick Sherlock over her, if he was made to choose, and it was easier to blame Sherlock than himself. He regretted it. Of course, he did. Sherlock had forgiven him so easily, and it showed John that Sherlock cared for him greatly, even if he had gone through pain, loneliness and mourning whilst trying to bring John back to him. John, at the time, hadn't even considered the possibility of Sherlock mourning, but it was obvious, really. Sherlock and Mary had become friends, and she had offered up her life so that he would live. Having someone do that for you couldn't be easy to come to terms with, after all. It showed true friendship and love for a person, because she was willing to do that for Sherlock.

Sherlock and Rosie were still talking to each other in hushed tones, as John finally entered the flat to put away the milk in the fridge.

"So... You two are as thick as thieves. Did anything interesting happen whilst I was away?", John asked.

"Papa is happy now, Dada. Don’t you worry. He’s not crying no – I mean any- more.", Rosie explained to her father, John noticing how much her speech had come along after leaving her with Sherlock whilst he was working so much.

"Oh? And why was Papa crying, Rosie?", John asked, sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa and stroking his daughter's hair (who was sat on Sherlock).

"I’m clever. That’s why, Dada.", she beamed, a cheeky grin showing a hint of Mary's sarcastic nature.

"She looked just like Mary when she did that.", Sherlock commented.

"Yeah, she did... But, Sherlock, her intelligence comes from you. Her speech has come on in leaps and bounds since we moved back here, and it's all thanks to you."

"Thank you, John, but she really is a smart child, anyway. She just needed that extra little bit of encouragement. Now, Rosie... How about we show Dada what we learnt today, huh?", Sherlock asked the young girl.

"Yes!", she squealed with excitement.

"Okay, go on then... From the start...", Sherlock urged.

“Noble gases: helium, neon, argon, krypton, xenon, radon and unoctium. Other non-metals: boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, fluorine, silicon, phosphorus, sulphur, chlorine, arsenic (which is what that man was killed with in Papa’s case last month), selenium, bromine, tellurium, iodine and astatine.”

“Wow… That is brilliant, Rosie.”, John smiled.

“I’ve not finished, Dada. Alkali metals: lithium, sodium, potassium, rubidium, caesium, and francium. Alkaline earth metals: beryllium, magnesium, calcium, strontium, barium and radium. I’m finished now, Dada. You can clap if you like.”, Rosie grinned.

Clapping, John smiled, pride swelling his chest, and said, “Well done, Rosie! Clever girl!”

“Yes… We’re getting there with it. She had a slight problem with the pronunciation of some of them. They confused her for ages. She has even read that animal book to me today. I helped, of course, but she managed pretty well without much prompting.”, Sherlock explained.

"She is more than advanced for her age, Sherlock. She's beautiful.". John smiled.

"Yes, well it helps that her father isn't too shabby looking.", Sherlock teased.

"Rude! But, thanks? Ah, I don't know... Fancy take out?", John asked.

"Why not... Thai, Chinese or Italian?", Sherlock replied, before John got up off the sofa, to grab a handful of menus and his phone.

“Er… Italian. Rosie will eat it that way.”, John smiled.

“Good idea.”, Sherlock replied.

Life in Baker Street was perfect, and Sherlock found that he could work on a case and look after and teach Rosie at the same time. She was fascinating to him. Just the way that she looked at the whole world with wonder, as though everything was amazing. Of course, Sherlock knew the harsh reality, and that was not the case, but it inspired him to look for the best in people, rather than the worst.

Rosie was put to bed, after they had all eaten, just in time for Lestrade and Mycroft to arrive to discuss the case. John didn't quite realise that Mycroft was, in fact, Greg's partner, until the[ pair sat on the sofa, opposite John and Sherlock in their armchairs, and Mycroft laced his fingers through Greg's, resting their hands on his lap. After the initial shock, Greg and Mycroft began to bring up the case.

"So, Sherlock... You saw it. The lads down at the Yard reckon it was someone close to the family.", Greg explained.

"Well, they are wrong then."

"They are?", John asked.

"Of course, they are. It is obvious."

"Of course, it is.", Greg chuckled, rolling his eyes.

"Well, what person, killing someone they know, snips the telephone wires and smashes their mobile phones? Also, Greg... It's like you said. They were a wealthy family but the only money taken was that from the daughter's purse, which didn't amount to all that much, and the father paid for everything by card or cheque. Everyone who knew the man would know that he didn't pay for things by cash, so why would they go looking in the house for it?", Sherlock explained.

"That's a good point. I mean, there is evidence that the daughter was raped, as well. I got the results just before I came up here.", Greg added.

"Well, then... I think that someone had tipped off people about a wealthy house, which would possibly have cash in it, and they have gone in, realised that isn't the case, have panicked and have acted accordingly. The daughter and the mother will have been tied up first, to give the father a chance to cough up. When they realised he couldn't, they were too deep into it so shot the lot of them, and then the daughter was raped post mortem. That's the only explanation with all the facts and evidence we have. We're looking for someone from out of town, possibly with criminal connections, and possibly recently released from prison themselves. There has to have been more than one person, but no more than three."

"Bloody hell... Well, you'll be needed on the search, and in the questioning.", Greg said.

"It's just awful, isn't it? I mean, why would anyone rape a recently dead body, that hadn't even had time to go cold yet.", John pondered aloud.

"Why does any criminal do what they do, John?", Sherlock asked, which was unusual. Usually, Sherlock would not be able to begin to comprehend the mindset of another person, or consider their circumstances, and there he was doing what John thought he was incapable of, which made John's heart ache for him even more.

John got up to make a pot of tea, leaving the others in the sitting room. As he put the kettle on to boil, Mycroft entered the kitchen, and lingered by the door to the stairs.

"Are you okay, Mycroft?", John asked him.

"I'm just fine, thank you, John. I have a query... I, myself, who has for many years been considered the ice man, has found someone I love. I wish that for my brother, also... He was always the sentimental one. I think, Doctor Watson, that you have these feelings for my brother, and I can assure you he feels the same way about you. Now, how you go about this, is your choice, but he does love you, John, and has done since you shot a cabbie to save his life."

"I don't know what to say, Mycroft... How do you know for definite?", John asked.

"Sherlock is my brother, John. Whilst he was away, for those two years, he asked me to keep an eye on you. He even risked his undercover mission and life to meet me in Berlin, where I had a picture of you for him, upon his request. Your daughter already calls him Papa. She knows, and she isn't even two years old yet, so why are you two so oblivious to it?"

"I, well... I don't know, Mycroft. But, erm, thank you for telling me.", John smiled.

"I didn't tell you for you, John. I did it because I have a bet with my dear Gregory that you will get together by Christmas, which is only 5 months away.", Mycroft smirked, before leaving the kitchen and joining the other two in the living room again.

"Of course, he did it to get one up on his new little boyfriend.", John muttered to himself, smiling slightly, due to it being such a Mycroft thing to do. He should have realised that Mycroft did nothing that didn't get him any personal gain.


	3. Chapter Three

The pair left a little after midnight, which left just John and Sherlock. John was sat in the living room reading the paper, and Sherlock had decided to wash up, which John was all too happy to let him do. Everything was fine until John heard a clutter and the word "Fuck" float through from the kitchen.

John immediately jumped up and ran into the kitchen to find a broken cup on the floor, and Sherlock staring at his hand which had blood pouring out of it a little too quickly for John's liking.

"Okay, Sherlock, get some kitchen roll whilst I run and get some supplies from my bedroom. Put pressure on that wound... It is deep, and I think I'm going to have to stitch it, but I don't think it'll require A and E if we get it sorted as soon as..."

John ran to his room, grabbed his supplies, and quickly made his way back to the kitchen, to sort out the mess that Sherlock's hand was in.

"Okay... I don't have any painkillers that you can have, so I'm going to have to clean and stitch it, and you're going to have to grit your teeth, okay?", John asked.

Sherlock just nodded in reply, still putting pressure on his wound, as he has been previously ordered to by the army doctor. John got to work, taking Sherlock's hand in his, and pulling away the bloody kitchen roll, before getting some anti-sceptic and cleaning the wound. Sherlock hissed in pain, but made no verbal complaint, as he would have done previously. John cleaned up the wound and then immediately started stitching it.

Once John had finished, Sherlock said, "Thank you, John. What would I do without you?"

"You'd never have milk for your tea, for a start.", John smirked, as he packed away his things.

"It hurt less than I expected."

"Oh, it did?", John said, raising his eyebrow.

"Well, it hurt less than getting shot.", Sherlock smirked.

"Yeah, I know.", John smiled in reply, his thoughts drifting to Mary for a split second before they immediately found themselves on the matter of Sherlock again. It was at that moment that John realised that Sherlock was still holding his hand, and wasn't showing any signs, or making any attempt to let go. John looked up at the taller man, and saw an expression on his face, which he couldn't quite read. The pair found themselves leaning closer and closer to each other, their lips nearly touching, when a cry came from the baby monitor, and they realised Rosie had awoken.

"I'll go.", John said, pulling away and leaving so quickly that it made Sherlock have to think about whether John had been there at all, nearly kissing him, or whether his vivid imagination was running away with him.

Telling himself it was only in his head, and that he had never injured himself in the first place, let alone nearly kissed John, Sherlock cleaned up the remainder of the broken cup and made his way to his bedroom. Sherlock then changed into his nightwear and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, dreaming about the situation that had just occurred.

When John came back downstairs, after checking on Rosie, he found an empty, clean kitchen, which confused him. Checking to make sure Sherlock was okay, John quietly widened the gap in Sherlock's bedroom door, and poked his head around. There he found a bundle of curls, wrapped up in blankets and pillows, snoring lightly. Chuckling to himself quietly, John then backed out of Sherlock's room, got himself a glass of water and made his way up to bed himself.

The next morning, everything was back to normal. John woke up to the sound of Rosie calling him, and smiled, after remembering the night before. He soon stopped smiling, however, and started panicking, scared as to how Sherlock would be with him.

“Dada! I want to see Papa!”, Rosie squealed.

John picked up his little girl and carried her down the stairs, where he found Sherlock fully clothed and sat reading that morning’s paper, drinking a coffee.

“Papa!”, Rosie exclaimed happily, when she saw him.

“Good morning, Rosie, John. I trust you slept well?”, Sherlock asked.

“Yes, thank you.”, John replied, suddenly feeling relief that the near kiss hadn’t been mentioned.

“We have to go down to the Yard today… Something about the case. Molly has the day off and has agreed to have Rosie. She’ll be here in half an hour, so if you want to get ready, I’ll feed and clothe Rosie while you sort yourself out.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Of course, I’m sure, John. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise, would I?”, Sherlock stated rolling his eyes a little.

John smiled a little at Sherlock’s reply, before taking himself off upstairs to get the things he needed for a shower, whilst Rosie listened as Sherlock began to pick up where he’d left off on the book they were reading: The Hobbit. He even did all of the voices. Rosie loved it when her Dada got involved too and he read in as Bilbo whilst her Papa read the dragon Smaug.

John was glad of the help from Sherlock, although the tension that he thought would be there between him and Sherlock wasn’t there. Sherlock, of course, had convinced himself that the night before had never even happened, but John didn’t know that, but was happy with the fact that it wasn’t being mentioned for the minute.

As soon as John was ready, Molly picked Rosie up and off the pair went to meet Greg at Scotland Yard.

“Okay, Sherlock… It seems you were right. We have a lead on a pair – both ex-convicts – who were given a tip off about an exceptionally wealthy man, who has a safe. It turns out that Mr Daniels did have a safe, but inside there was only papers about his life insurance, which was a hell of a lot of money, mind you. For a start, there would not be any money in the safe, because he was infamous for not keeping any money on him, for precisely the reason that he doesn’t want to be robbed.”

“Who are the two?”, Sherlock asked.

“They are Richard Smith and Perry Dickinson. Both ex-convicts, as I said. They weren’t associated with each other, though, until after they both served their time. They are currently working their way through the North of England, doing small jobs to get them by. We think it’s them who are doing them, anyway. We got a tip off. Someone who was in prison with Dickinson. He told them they had been given this job, and he decided to actually report it.”, Lestrade informed them.

“That’s very noble of him.”, John commented.

“Well, yes. He’s a reformed man, it would seem.”, Lestrade chuckled.

“So, how do we get them then? Where are they headed?”, Sherlock asked, totally focussed.

“To the parents of Smith’s second wife, we believe; she died in a car accident. They live in Edinburgh. They have already been told to be expecting us, and to not tell the pair that the police know they’re going there.”

“Okay, so we go and meet them, yes? Catch them up at the house of Smith’s in-laws.”, John asked.

“I’ll go, John. Someone needs to stay with Rosie. Plus, it’ll be heaving. It’s the Edinburgh Fringe. It’ll be crawling with tourists.”

“Sherlock, we live in London, which is always full of tourists. And, I think we could take Rosie with us. It’d be nice to get away for a bit as a family. It’d be nice. We could make a thing out of it.”, John said.

“No, John. I don’t want Rosie in that situation. I won’t risk her anywhere near those two criminals, now I know what they’re like.”, Sherlock replied, shocking Lestrade a little, and causing him to leave the room, so the pair could discuss it without him eavesdropping (and so he could go and ring Mycroft at this new development).

“Come on, Sherlock… We have had the year from hell, and we’re only half-way through it. Please, for me, can we just go. Rosie would love the street acts, and we can hire a babysitter for up there, when we need one. Sorting the case out will only take a day. We could go for four days. There is that museum/exhibit thing, ‘Dynamic Earth’, which I’m sure Rosie would love. Please… For me.”, John begged.

“If you stop looking at me like a lost puppy, John, then I will consider it, but I will be picking the baby-sitter. I’m not leaving my daughter with just anyone.”, Sherlock answered.

That made John grin like an idiot. “You just said Rosie is your daughter.”

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock replied, “Sometimes your stupidity astounds me, John. She calls me her Dad. Of course, I call her my daughter.”

“Sorry. Yes.”, John apologised, still grinning like an idiot.

“Right. That is that sorted then. I will be able to fund it, with it being police business.”, Lestrade said.

“Didn’t think funding things was your division.”, Sherlock smirked.

“Well, I can pull a few strings.”

“I guess it helps when you’re shagging the British government.”, John muttered, so only Sherlock could hear, causing the detective to splutter and having to try and cover it up with a cough.

“What’s tickled him?”, Lestrade asked John.

“You know what he’s like… It could be anything.”, John replied, biting the inside of his cheeks to try and stop himself from laughing.

The pair then left Lestrade to go home to their daughter and sort out their small holiday in Edinburgh. They sat in the living room of 221B, with Molly, searching for hotels and babysitters as Rosie sat on the floor, playing quietly with her toys and muttering to herself.

“I’ve just had a thought…”, Molly said.

“Go on, Molls.”, John replied.

“I’m due my annual leave. In fact, I haven’t had it for six years, so my bosses are practically begging me to take the time off. I could come up to Edinburgh with you and look after Rosie. I mean, she knows me so it’s better than getting someone she doesn’t know. And it means some poor student, looking for an extra bit of cash, doesn’t have to go through the scrutiny of having Sherlock break down their life bit by bit.”, Molly suggested.

“We couldn’t ask you to take your annual leave just to come and look after our daughter.”, John said.

“But I want to. You guys are my family… I don’t have anyone else. And Rosie is my God daughter. I made Mary a promise that, if anything happens, I would look after her and you two. The three of you meant so much to Mary and she knew what you could become, if anything ever happened. Mary was the first female friend I’ve had since Uni and I respect her so much. Please let me help you.”, Molly explained, tearing up.

Sherlock didn’t say a word. He just nodded, as a tear escaped down his cheek. John, too, was crying but didn’t respond as Sherlock had already responded. Rosie noticed that the adults had gone silent, and quietly got up from where she was sat, and waddled over to Sherlock, climbed up onto his lap, with a little help from Sherlock, and wiped his tears away.

“There Papa. All better.”, she said, before jumping down and repeating the same action with John, staying on her Dad’s knee after she had wiped away his tears.

“What’s happening?”, Rosie asked.

“We’re going on holiday, Rosie. Me, you, Papa and Auntie Molly. Uncle Greg will be there too. And Uncle Myc might even come.”, John told the toddler.

“Oooh… Yes. I’m excited, Dada.”

“I’m glad you’re excited, Rosie. We are too.”, Sherlock smiled.

“Right, well… I’m off. I have a date. And before you say anything, Sherlock, I already triple checked his criminal record. We don’t want another Moriarty situation, I know.”, Molly smiled, laughing a little, giving Rosie a kiss on the cheek and leaving the flat.

That left the boys in a comfortable silence, with Rosie happily rambling on about what had happened in an episode of Doctor Who that she had watched with her Dada the night before when she couldn’t sleep.

Sherlock was cautious when it came to be mentioning anything about Mary. He didn’t want to upset John or himself. And he didn’t want Rosie to associate the mention of her Mother with tears. Sherlock realised that Mary had left him the perfect family and had been happy doing so. The gratitude and love that Sherlock felt for Mary, as a result of this, was huge. She had died saving his life. She had died because he was, once again, being too smart and should have left it, but he didn’t. He had caused her death and, yet, she had been happy to leave so much to him. She had left the care of her husband and her daughter to him. Why? Sherlock couldn’t quite fathom what Mary had seen in him to spark all of the things Mary had thought about him. Or, maybe, she knew he loved her husband. Sherlock was always terrified of that. When he had come back, he had expected to pick up with John where they had left off, and jump straight back into running around London with him and maybe even exploring the feelings he had begun to feel for his best friend. Then he’d returned and it really wasn’t the case at all. John had found the love of his life. He was going to propose. It was serious. Sherlock really wanted to hate Mary but he just couldn’t bring himself to. She had healed his best friend when he had caused pain and, for that, he couldn’t have been more grateful. Plus, she was too nice not to like. That is, of course, until she shot him. Although, even then, he fully understood why Mary had done what she had done. The same way he fully understood why she had run away instead of asking for help when Ajay had been chasing after her. The protection of another life, when Rosie had come along, had changed the priorities of the trio, made up of the Watsons and the younger Holmes boy. She became the most important thing and all of their actions had consequences on that little girl’s life. The biggest being that Sherlock had not shut his big mouth, meaning that the little girl he held so dear no longer had a mother. It resonated in his mind, every time he looked at the little girl and guilt overcame him every time he heard her call him ‘Papa’. It was atrocious the feeling that he didn’t deserve the title. And everything that happened with Eurus made it worse. Rosie had nearly lost her Father too. And that was also because of him. John had forgiven him. How, he had no idea, but he felt that a small getaway to Edinburgh would clear his head a little. He had always loved that city as a boy and he loved the complex simplicity of it.


	4. Chapter Four

Mycroft, being able to get some time away from the office by leaving everything in the capable hands of Anthea, had arranged the whole trip to Scotland. Sherlock, John, Rosie, Molly, Lestrade and himself were to be staying in a house a mile away from the castle, with the perfect view of it from the rear of the house. It had four bedrooms, a sizeable kitchen and living room as well as four bathrooms and a downstairs toilet. John was baffled as to how Mycroft had managed to procure the house, what with the city being teeming with life at that time of the year, with the festival going on. John was excited to go see the street acts of the Fringe and it was about time he did, as he had wished to for years, but had never got around to it. Of course, for the most part, their time would be spent hunting down the people who had committed such an atrocious crime but they had been told that they would have an extra week in Edinburgh, no matter how long it had taken. Mycroft had promised.

It had only been three days since they had decided to go to Scotland, in pursuit of the criminals, and they were on their way, by train, to Manchester, where they were going to spend one night, to minimise the travel time for Rosie, with her being young and easily inclined to become restless. They stayed over in the Midland hotel, taking up three suites, all expenses paid for by Mycroft, once again. Sherlock and John had one suite with Rosie, who slept in a travel cot and the boys had to share a bed. Neither of them fussed, but neither commented, either, when they’d found themselves wrapped around each other the next morning. John had found, on the train from Piccadilly station in Manchester to Edinburgh Waverley, that Sherlock’s thigh was pressed up against his, as Rosie freely went from her Dada’s to her Papa’s lap. Molly was sat with her nose in a romance novel of some kind, which made John feel sad for her, once again, because she was lonely. This was her first holiday in six years and she was using it to look after the child she would never have. Time was getting on and Molly wasn’t getting any younger and it was as though she had given up on all chance at love for herself, what with everything she has gone through. Moriarty. Tom. Sherlock. The hell she was put through, emotionally, with Eurus, without her knowing what was going to happen. It seemed, to John, that she had taken all of the hurt she felt and had turned it into love, pouring her heart and soul into her new little family. John was more than grateful for her presence when it came to looking after Rosie and he loved having her around as a person. Molly was a welcome female influence on Rosie’s life and John wanted that for his daughter. He wanted her to have a woman who she could talk to, when she was older, about the stuff that girls don’t want to talk to her Dad about, let alone her Papa. John could just imagine the hell that would ensue if Rosie ever asked her Papa where babies came from. It made him chuckle a little.

“What are you laughing at?”, Sherlock asked him, a glint in his eye.

“Nothing in particular, Sherlock. Don’t worry your pretty, curly, little head about it.”, John told him.

“You think I’m pretty?”, Sherlock almost flirted.

“Piss off.”, John laughed.

“Not in front of Rosie, John.”, Sherlock scolded, jokingly.

“She’s heard and seen worse. And it isn’t me that she’s heard and seen it from, Sherlock.”, John replied.

“Point taken.”, Sherlock smiled.

The pair then chatted about the case until they arrived in Edinburgh, where John got the luggage off the rack as Sherlock carried his daughter off the train and onto the platform, Rosie clinging tightly to his neck and singing nursery rhymes to herself happily. Lestrade and Mycroft weren’t far behind Molly, as they departed the train, Lestrade lacing his fingers through those of his boyfriend’s, causing the British government to look like he was going to crumble a little and flush wildly. Greg noticed this, of course, and leant in and kissed his cheek, just to see his partner squirm just a little bit more. It made John want to take Sherlock’s hand in his and not care about the consequences or what anyone thought, including Sherlock himself, but he found that he just couldn’t. It wasn’t until they were walking up the steps, from the station to where Mycroft had a car waiting for them all that John snapped out of his daze a little, mainly due to the hustle and bustle because the Festival was in full swing and the place was swarming with tourists. John was nervous, knowing that there were only a certain amount of bedrooms in the house that they were staying in and that Mycroft would, no doubt, try and make it so that John and Sherlock had no choice but to share a bed.

The house was gorgeous and even had a garden that Rosie could run around safely in. The little girl was so excited to see so much grass next to the house, what with her only usually being able to run around on the rare occasion that her Dad and Papa took her to the park, or sometimes her Auntie Molly and even, on one more memorable occasion, her Uncle Mycroft (who had even let her share an ice cream and feed the ducks and squirrels). Despite being so young, Rosie was definitely intellectually advanced in years. She could read simple words. And could chat your ear off if you weren’t too careful, usually about what she could see, or what she’d had for dinner, or who she had spent the day with whilst her Fathers were racing around London solving crimes.

Whilst her Dads and two Uncles were inside the house talking about the case and discussing tactics, her Uncle Mycroft participating in legwork for once, which was definitely the influence of her Uncle Greg and the fact that he wanted to see his boyfriend in something other than a suit, Rosie went into the garden with her Auntie Molly.

“Auntie Molly?”, the girl asked her godmother.

“Yes, Rosie, my lovely? What is it?”, Molly asked.

“This is a garden?”, she asked.

“Yes, sweet. We don’t have room for them at home, unfortunately.”, Molly explained.

“We have parks.”, Rosie said.

“Yes, we do.”, Molly smiled, remembering their trips to the park together.

“Why is there no sand here?”, Rosie asked.

“What do you mean, Rosie?”, Molly questioned.

“We are on holiday but there is no sand.”, she told her, looking a little confused.

“Not every holiday has sands and beaches, Rosie. Some have cities and people. Or fields and the peace and quiet.”, Molly explained.

“Oh… I want to see the sea, Auntie Molly.”, Rosie told her.

“You will one day, Rosie. Don’t you worry… Anyway, your Papa said that you can recognise some flowers. Are there any here that you know?”, Molly asked, which distracted Rosie and Molly found that she was learning things from the young girl. Despite being so young, Rosie was able to toddle around the garden easily, chewing Molly’s ear off by reeling off the names of certain flowers in English AND Latin.

Inside the house, the boys were hard at work, coming up with a plan that would be then passed on to the local police force so that the quartet had back-up when it came to the interrogation and arrest of the pair that had committed such an awful crime.

“So, we need to be in the house today, preferably, to see where we can hide. We expect that they’ll arrive sometime on Thursday afternoon, so that gives us the rest of today to scope out where we hide in the house, and a day to get to know the local force and get them up to speed with what is going on here.”, Lestrade said.

“Yes, that sounds like a plan. I suggest we go to the house early Thursday morning, however, just to make sure. If they figure out we’re on their tail, they will make more of an effort to get here quicker and if they get in that house before we do, it’s likely that the in-laws will end up as their next victims, which we need to avoid at all costs.”, Mycroft added.

“So, we go to the in-laws today, and fill them in before seeing where we can hide whilst the pair appear. How much time do we leave before we jump out on them after they arrive?”, John asked.

“At least 10 minutes. If they think we’re onto them, they’ll expect to be ambushed within the first five minutes upon their arrival. We have to let them think they’ve won and then jump out at them when they least expect it.”, Sherlock said.

“What about the in-laws? Will they be able to act normal enough for them to think they’re home and dry?”, John asked.

“Well the woman, Margaret Brown, was an actress so we have no issues there. The only problem we have is the father-in-law, Ken… He should be alright with it, but he is appalled by what has happened and does not want anything to do with Richard. However, the pair never really did see eye to eye, so I’m hoping that his reluctance to talk to Richard will stay in the bounds of their normal relationship. After all, it’s Richard that raped the poor girl. We got the DNA results on the way up here.”, Mycroft explained.

“Okay, so… Where are Molly and Rosie?”, Sherlock asked.

“In the garden. It looks as though Rosie is sharing her botanical knowledge with her favourite Auntie.”, Mycroft said, causing them all to look out of the kitchen window and watch as Rosie pointed at plants before talking animatedly at her Auntie.

“I thought you were her favourite Auntie.”, Sherlock grinned at his brother.

“Please tell me again, Gregory, dear, why coming away with my little brother was a good idea…”, Mycroft groaned to his boyfriend.

“You love it, really.”, Greg chuckled, before stealing a quick kiss from his partner’s lips, once again causing him to blush wildly which made Sherlock smirk at him.

“Not a word, Brother Mine, or I will get John to break every bone in your body, whilst naming them.”, Mycroft warned.

“He wouldn’t do that, Mycroft. I’m too pretty.”, Sherlock smiled, making John blush this time.

“I believe we call that One – all, Sherlock.”, Greg chuckled, making both John and Mycroft blush even deeper as Sherlock joined in his chuckling.


	5. Chapter Five

Once they got over the initial embarrassment, the four men said their goodbyes to the girls, all four of them getting big cuddles off Rosie, and headed out. They all climbed in the hire car, which Mycroft was driving, and headed off to the Brown’s house for the first stage of their plan.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drive, Myc. You’re usually being chauffeured around.”, Greg said.

“Just because I don’t drive, love, it doesn’t mean that I can’t drive. I just have to be driven around when in London for safety measures.”

“You know, what, Greg… I haven’t actually seen Mycroft drive since I was about 14. He came home from Uni in a banged-up Ford capris… He took me for a drive.”, Sherlock told the Detective Inspector.

“I’m surprised you remember that, Sherlock. You seemed to have got rid of your teenage years.”, Mycroft said, a little shock present in his voice.

“We went to that shop… We had cans of coke and strawberry bon-bons. It was a nice day too.”, Sherlock carried on. “Anyway… I’ve been remembering more and more ever since, well… You know what.”, Sherlock explained.

“Indeed.”, Mycroft said, looking a little forlorn at the mention of Sherrinford and Eurus. Greg must have noticed as he didn’t say anything, but he put his hand on Mycroft’s thigh and gave it a squeeze before leaving it there for the rest of the fairly short drive. After the short conversation, everyone seemed to drift into their own little worlds.

“Well, here we are then…”, Mycroft announced as he pulled up outside a rather nice-looking detached house.

“Looks as though we’ll be spoilt for choice when it comes to rooms to hide in.”, John commented as they walked up the front path, through a small rose garden.

“Definitely, mate… We’ll have plenty of room as well. Many a time have I been stuck on a stake out, pressed up against Dimmock or Donovan in the dark in a tiny, cupboard-sized room, for hours on end. Let me tell you, Dimmock isn’t as boring as he first appears. He knows some filthy jokes.”, Lestrade told him, chuckling, making John smile a little.

“I’m sure he does. Sick bastards the lot of you, at the Yard.”, John commented.

“Very true… Only way to cope.”, Lestrade grinned, a slight sadness in his eyes. Of course, John had seen atrocities like you wouldn’t believe whilst in the army. He barely stopped to think about some of the things Lestrade had dealt with in his time on the force. Things like that change a man, which John knew all too well and he knew Lestrade had seen things that he would never forget, just as he had.

The Holmes boys took the lead in the briefing of the Brown couple, which didn’t take as long as John had thought it would, with the Browns being more than willing to do as they had been asked and help the police in tracking their son-in-law down.

“We want that bastard to get what he deserves for what he has done. I always said that our Janie was too good for him.”, Mr Brown said, in his strong Glaswegian accent, despite him now residing in Edinburgh where their accents aren’t as prominent.

“I’m sure the gentlemen know that, dear… No need for your bad language. We always knew that it’d only be a matter of time before he was back in prison. He has already served a two-year sentence for assault, you see… And, well… My Janie was in love and nothing we, or anyone else, said could have stopped her from marrying that man. If we hadn’t have agreed, they’d have eloped anyway and we preferred to keep them close, if there was nothing to stop them, so we could keep an eye on them.”, Mrs Brown explained.

“We fully understand, Mrs Brown. Now, may we look around, in order to find the best place to stake out?”, Mycroft asked.

“Of course, Mr Holmes. Take as long as you need. We will be here, or in the kitchen, if you have any questions.”, she replied, before the group got up and excused themselves to look around the house.

This time, John and Lestrade led the way through the house, opening and closing doors on the ground floor until they found a small library, which was still a large room. Mycroft looked around the titles, checking for first editions. Mycroft had a thing about first editions of the classics… Jane Eyre, Pride and Prejudice, Wuthering Heights… He was checking to see if there were any here, but most of the books seemed to be non-fiction or not first edition. He found one first edition and smiled… The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley – Sherlock’s favourite book as a child, which explains a lot. Frankenstein and his monster. Mycroft was surprised that his brother hadn’t tried to create a creature himself, using the book as some kind of ingredients list with a method and variables to consider.

“Scottie, come and look at this…”, Mycroft called to his brother, Sherlock smiling at the childhood nickname that Mycroft had used.

Sherlock went over to look at what his brother was pointing out and gave his brother a smile.

“Do you remember when we’d left Musgrave and you’d read this to me. We’d take it in turns to play the Monster and Dr Frankenstein.”, Sherlock asked his brother, either ignoring or not noticing the way Lestrade and John had stopped looking at the books and begun watching the brothers instead.

“Indeed… I seem to recall you liking my rendition of Adam.”, Mycroft chuckled lightly.

“Well, it certainly was better than your Lady Bracknell, Brother Mine.”, Sherlock smiled.

“You said you liked my Lady Bracknell, Sherlock… I am quite offended.”, Mycroft joked.

“You always have been good at characters, Mycroft. You used to do the local vet, Mr Chinnery… Except you used to pretend that he blew up animals. You kept me entertained for hours with that when Mummy was teaching and Dad was doing whatever office job he had at the time.”, Sherlock recalled.

“Yes, I rather enjoyed that. It certainly beat writing essay after essay for school.”, Mycroft said.

“Anyway, boys… Are we thinking this room, then? It’s not like we’ll exactly run out of books to read whilst we wait, will we?”, Greg asked, sitting in one of the armchairs by a fireplace, which was not lit with it being the height of August.

“Yes, Greg… It’s perfect. There aren’t any windows so they won’t see us from outside when they arrive. There are also secret alcoves to hide in, behind the bookcases, if they decide they need to do a search when they arrive. It’s also close enough to the living room to be able to hear what’s going on. And, as you said… We have plenty in here to keep us occupied.”, Sherlock agreed.

“That’s settled then. Why don’t we tell the Browns and the get back to the house… Molly text and asked what we were doing about food. I said take-out tonight so she said she’ll take Rosie shopping whilst we’re out tomorrow and cook for us for the rest of the time we’re here.”, Lestrade announced.

“Sounds good to me.”, John smiled.

“I swear… That Molly Hooper is a God send.”, Lestrade commented.

“Agreed.”, John said as the brothers hummed in agreement.

It only took two minutes to inform the Browns of their plan to use the library, which they agreed to, mainly because it gave Mrs Brown some peace of mind that they would have something to do whilst they waited. They then said their goodbyes, with promises of their return at 8am on Thursday morning.

It was nearing four o’clock in the afternoon by the time the four men were pulling up outside the house, in the hire car. On the way back, Sherlock had pestered his older brother (and had then used blackmail by threatening to show Greg his baby photos) so that he was on a promise that he could drive the car the next day. John was glad of this as it meant he would be able to ride in the front, something he had not done for years, properly, due to his constant jumping in and out of the back of taxis.

Rosie was having a nap when they got in, so they all stayed quiet and filled their pathologist baby-sitter, Molly, in on what had occurred at the Browns. Molly listened intently and then made an excellent point to the boys, the Holmes’ being particularly grateful for a female input as they were very much lacking in that area.

“The rape was carried out by Smith, yes? Then why just the girl and not the mother? What was different about the mother? Some kind of fetish, maybe? And has he been accused of it before? I mean, I find that people who get done for rape haven’t just done it the once. Like that case in that village, in the 80s… A girl went missing. She’d been dragged into the nearby field raped, murdered and then dumped. The community thought they were safe and then it happened again, only a couple of years later, in a village further down the road. It was the same man. He had moved and then had done it again.”, Molly said.

“Do you know what, I hadn’t thought of that. He might do it on his way up here…”, Greg commented.

“You are proving to be quite invaluable, Miss Hooper.”, Mycroft smiled.

“Please, Mr Holmes. It’s Molly.”

“Then you may call me Mycroft.”

“Greg… We need to follow this up. Where were they last?”, Sherlock asked.

“Horsforth, just outside of Leeds… I’ll get onto it now. Ask if there have been any sexual harassment claims. There is a university in that area, as well as there being more in the centre of Leeds. There were a few break-ins in that area, I know that much from the report. I’ll be back in a minute.”, Greg informed them as he went out into the garden to phone around and get more information on their new theory (well, Molly’s new theory).


	6. Chapter Six

“What take-out are we having, then?”, Molly asked.

“I believe there are a few near the co-op, a few streets away. We could wander down and have a look, or we can order online and get it delivered.”, Mycroft commented.

“Good idea.”, Molly smiled.

Molly began telling them what she and Rosie had been up to whilst they were out, but Mycroft was distracted by the sight of his partner, through the kitchen window. Due to the August sun, Greg had taken off his suit jacket and tie, unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. His silver hair was messy, where he had run his hands through it in frustration, and he had one hand on his hip as he spoke, rather sternly, on the phone to whatever team was helping track the pair of criminals up the country. His shirt was well-fitting and tucked into his trousers. Mycroft smiled a little at the sight, knowing how much the man had helped him after everything that had happened in Sherrinford and at Musgrave. Mycroft never got to Musgrave. He had been kept in Sherrinford, in his sister’s cell. The blood and body of the Governor hadn’t been removed and Mycroft often found himself, in the weeks after, with his head over a toilet if he had let his mind wander and remember the smell. There was something about the smell of death. Once you smell it, you can’t get rid of it for weeks. No matter how much posh soap, anti-bacterial hand gel or times he showered, Mycroft could still smell it. Mycroft knew that Greg had lingered around his office, the next day, because Sherlock had asked him to keep an eye on him. The way that Greg invited himself into Mycroft’s house, on more than one occasion, despite (at the time) being unwelcome, was enough to show Mycroft that Greg was not going to stop. He was not going to stop slipping him sleeping tablets in his drink so he’d sleep. He was not going to stop insisting that Mycroft ate something, as he had begun to lose weight because of missing meals. And he was not going to stop showing how much he cared for him, on his own merit. He had realised, quite early on, that his brother was behind it. However, he also realised that Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade was a man who didn’t do things he was told all of the time and that he only did what he was told when he wanted to.

In the third week post-Eurus, Mycroft was doing better. He could get to mid-afternoon without wanting to be sick and he found himself smiling every time Greg text him a silly message, as he did half-hourly, no matter what he was doing, just to try and get a reaction out of the ice man who, unbeknownst to Greg, was slowly melting thanks to his healing. On the Wednesday, Mycroft was surprised by Greg, when he left his office. After the first week, Greg had begun appearing at his house, rather than his office, and his trying day meant that Greg had been a welcome surprise.

“Come on, Myc… You’re coming with me.”, Greg told him.

“And where, pray tell, are you kidnapping me to now, Greg?”, Mycroft asked, acting as though he was annoyed by the presence of the detective, but was actually secretly glad that he was there.

“To dinner.”, Greg told him, with a cheeky grin, catching Mycroft off-guard, meaning he turned bright red at the thought of a candle-lit dinner for two, with the incredibly handsome man in front of him.

“Er… Dinner? I ate earlier.”, Mycroft commented, trying to regain some decorum.

“I know… You had a salad. Half of which was thrown away.”, Greg smiled.

“How do you know that?”, Mycroft asked, confused.

“I have my ways…”, Greg told him, a glint in his eye. Anthea, having been worried for her boss, had agreed to text Greg updates. “Anyway, are you coming? I’ve booked us a table for 8. It probably isn’t what you’re used to, but it’s my favourite place.”, Greg told him opening the passenger door of his six-year old Audi, which had definitely seen better days.

Rolling his eyes, nonchalantly, Mycroft replied, “If you have gone to the trouble of booking a table then I suppose I must.” That night, Greg had slept next to Mycroft (just slept) but it had been his first nightmare-free night since Sherrinford and, after that day, things were never the same.

When Mycroft came around from daydreaming, Molly was telling Sherlock and John how Rosie had been asking about sand and the sea and how she wanted to see it. Mycroft made a mental note of that. The small human had grown on him, despite his initial reluctance to have anything to do with her, recalling a certain moment when Sherlock had shown him a picture of baby Rosie. She was so clever now, no doubt down to his brother’s influence on the child and Mycroft found her tolerable due to her ability to learn at an immensely fast rate.

Greg was still on the phone, outside, but was now sat on one of the garden chairs, once again running his hands through his hair in frustration. He was finally getting somewhere with his inquiries and had found that a 14-year-old girl had been approached by two men, matching the descriptions of Smith and Dickinson, who had then proceeded to touch the girl’s breasts and tried to take her pants off. Luckily, someone had been passing the secluded bus shelter and the men ran, and the girl was taken home by the woman who found her, where it was then reported to the police. Greg was glad of the news but felt bad for the poor girl.

When he re-entered the kitchen, Molly had finished talking and Mycroft was recalling some story, or other, and Greg smiled at John, who realised that the smile meant he had some good news, and that Molly had been right.

“Well, love? Good news?”, Mycroft asked.

“Very. The pair approached a 14-year-old girl in Horsforth, at a bus stop. They touched her inappropriately and tried to take her clothes off but ran off when a woman passed and realised what was happening. The woman took the girl home, who was obviously shaken, and they contacted the police from there. By that time, the boys were back on the road.”, Lestrade explained.

“Was it definitely them?”, John asked.

“The descriptions match.”, Greg replied.

“Well then… That should add a couple more years onto their life sentences.”, Sherlock commented.

“Indeed. Well done, Mol.”, Greg smiled.

“Thanks, Greg.”, she smiled, looking proud of herself.

It was then that the pitter-patter of feet could be heard on the lino of the kitchen floor and a sleepy Rosie appeared at the end of the table, where all of the adults were sat.

“Hello, sleepy head. Did you have a nice nap?”, John asked.

“Yes thanks, Dada. Did you have a nice time catching baddies?”, she asked, still not fully awake, rubbing her eye with one hand, and holding her hedgehog toy in the other.

“We did, didn’t we, Papa?”, John smiled.

“Yes. It was very productive, Rosie. I hear you showed Auntie Molly all of your plant knowledge.”, Sherlock told the young girl, who was now climbing up his legs so she could sit on his lap.

“Yes. It was fun. I like the garden.”, she told him, bringing her hedgehog into her chest and laying her head on her Papa’s chest.

The group chatted about different things, it mainly being Molly, Greg and John, due to the Holmes’ reluctance and hatred of small talk and aimless chatting (the elder Holmes especially). The topic of a previous investigation came up and Sherlock then put his view across by, essentially, taking over how the case was solved, from Greg. They then all ate, after ordering their food online, and each went off to do different things for the evening. Mycroft sat in one armchair, by the window in the living room that looked over the garden, looking over work emails on his laptop, answering a few and reading through a couple of documents that Anthea had sent through for him to verify. Greg sat opposite him, his socked feet resting on his partners’, as he read a crime novel. He read them as he liked to guess the ending before he got to it, and often found that he had solved the case by chapter three but read on just to check he was right. Molly was sat at the other side of the room, in a recliner chair, with a cup of tea, also reading, but she was reading her romance novel that she’d started on the train.

John was sat on the sofa, with his laptop, doing some general browsing and checking things in his blog. Sherlock had taken Rosie to bed, after giving her a rather messy bath, and came back downstairs in his pyjamas and blue dressing gown, having got soaked by his daughter who thought it was hilarious to splash him. Finding that the only spare space to sit was next to John, Sherlock stalked over to the sofa and plonked himself down in a lying position, not caring that his feet were now covering John’s laptop.

“Sherlock! Do you mind?”, John huffed.

“Not really.”, Sherlock replied, smirking a little before placing his hands under his chin and going into his mind palace. Rolling his eyes, John moved Sherlock’s feet so he was more comfortable and then continued to browse on his laptop.

Mycroft glanced over at his brother and his flat-mate and nudged his partner’s foot, that was on top of his, to get his attention. Greg looked up at Mycroft, with a questioning look, before Mycroft gestured over to the sofa with his head, where Greg looked to find Sherlock practically lay across John. Greg looked back at Mycroft and smiled, knowing that he was going to lose £20. They weren’t going to last until after Christmas.

“It would be a miracle if they lasted until we got back to London.”, Greg thought to himself, before turning back to his book and letting the pair be.

Molly went to bed first, saying her goodnights and putting away her tea mug before climbing the stairs to her room. Then Greg went upstairs to get changed, followed by Mycroft ten minutes later, who had finished his work for the evening. That left the Baker Street Boys alone, in the living room. John turned off his laptop, and placed it on the table next to him, just to realise that Sherlock had fallen asleep. He sat quietly for a moment, until Sherlock jerked, nearly falling off the sofa, before he tossed and turned a few times before sitting up, bolt right, and gasping.

“John… Thank God, John…”, he muttered, pulling John into a hug.

“Sherlock? What’s wrong?”, John asked, rubbing Sherlock’s back, trying to soothe him.

“I didn’t find you. I dreamed that I didn’t get there in time and you drowned… I watched it happen, John. I lost you too. Rosie lost you too. I failed. Again. I failed to save another Watson.”, Sherlock blurted out, talking quickly and trying to control his breathing.

“I’m here, Sherlock… And I’m not going anywhere, ever. You didn’t fail, Sherlock. Mary jumped. It was her choice. You couldn’t have stopped her. We both know that. But, I’m here. I’m fine. Rosie is fine. And I’m never leaving your side. And if you try and leave me, I’ll follow you to the gates of hell. You’re not getting rid that easily.”, John told him, pulling Sherlock in tighter.

“Thank you, John… I, well… Thank you.”, Sherlock told him, pulling away slightly, to look at John’s face.

For a moment, John froze, debating on whether he should lean forwards and kiss Sherlock. He looked so beautiful in the dim light that the lamp was emitting and John couldn’t help himself. Deciding against kissing Sherlock, due to his vulnerable state, and not wanting to make things awkward, John smiled, and pulled away fully.

“Come on… Let’s get to bed. We’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.”, John smiled, getting up and putting a hand out to help Sherlock off the sofa.

“Yeah… Bed sounds good.”, Sherlock replied, before placing his hand in John’s, letting it linger for a moment longer than was deemed normal, before pulling his hand away and heading out of the living room and up the stairs. Sighing, John shook his head to himself, before picking up his laptop and following Sherlock to their bedroom.


	7. Chapter Seven

Rosie was up first the next morning, as was usual. She climbed out of her bed, in her own room, which Uncle Mycroft had made she sure she had, specially, and made her way out onto the landing. She opened the door, of the room next to her own, to find her Uncles asleep. Her Uncle Greg was lay on his back and her Uncle Mycroft had his head resting on the chest of his partner, their arms wrapped around each other. Just as quietly as she had entered, Rosie left the room and tried the next one. There she found her Auntie Molly, curled up on her side, snuggled deep into her duvet. She left her Auntie Molly, too, before trying the last door, which she knew wasn’t the bathroom, knowing it would be her Fathers room.

She opened the door quietly and snuck in to find her Dads asleep, facing each other, their limbs entangled with each-others. Both of them were sleeping, her Papa was even snoring lightly. Careful not to wake either of them, she climbed up onto their bed and curled up between them, falling asleep again as she listened to her Dads breathing in unison.

Half an hour later, Molly woke needing the toilet. She made her way to the bathroom, went to the loo and decided to check in on Rosie on her way back to her room. Molly panicked, initially, when she found Rosie’s empty bed, but noticed that her dressing gown and slippers, which they had unpacked and placed by the chair together, had gone. Molly then made her way to the room where she knew she would find her Goddaughter, and poked her head around the door, which was already slightly ajar. There she found the sweetest sight she had ever seen. The two men were asleep, their legs wrapped together under their blankets, and their hands now resting on the small sleeping form between them. Molly pulled her phone out of her dressing gown pocket and snapped a quick picture to make sure she had photographic evidence when she told Mycroft and Greg. She then left the room and headed downstairs for her first cup of tea of the day.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, with the group sitting around the table, all eating toast (as that was all they could make with what food they had in) and drinking tea and milk. Greg filled them in, as they were finishing up, on what they were to expect that day, before John washed up whilst Sherlock got himself and Rosie dressed, and the other three got washed up and dressed. Sherlock left Rosie with Molly, who was ready for her day of shopping and babysitting and began to get ready himself. John had finished washing up so also went to get ready. When he opened the bedroom door, he found a half-naked Sherlock.

“Sorry, I’ll go.”, he blurted out, before going to leave.

“Don’t be daft, John. Come and get ready. We’ve shared a bed and we both sleep topless… I don’t mind.”, Sherlock told him, pulling his purple shirt (John’s favourite) onto his shoulders, before fastening his trousers and belt before beginning to button up his shirt.

John got ready in silence, opting for a button-down shirt with a pair of jeans and his softer shoes, due to the weather being gorgeous already (despite it barely being 7:30am). Before he knew it, John was sat in the front passenger seat of the hire car, as Sherlock drove them to the police station. John pretended that he didn’t notice Mycroft reach for Greg’s hand across the middle seat in the back of the car, wanting them to enjoy their relationship in peace, without him gawking at them in the rear- view mirror, wishing he could do that with Sherlock without potentially ruining everything. Even though Mycroft had told him that Sherlock felt the same way, he didn’t want to scare Sherlock away. Despite his claims of being free from emotion, Sherlock had become extremely unstable. His time alone, when Mary had died, had been difficult, especially when he had to dose himself up on drugs massively and struggle to keep himself from overdosing and killing himself because he no longer had his John. Not that John knew that, of course. They had been through so much, too much, pain that they didn’t want to tread on each other’s toes, which was an issue. It meant they were denying themselves of each other.

Once they got to the station, the four men were treated like royalty. Mycroft was treated like a God with the Superintendent scurrying around him and practically yapping at his ankles like a chihuahua. Once they got to a conference room, a team was briefed, and Sherlock came to life. Telling them, along with his brother and Lestrade, what to expect and what was going to happen. They were to be stationed 10 streets away. When they heard from the boys that the pair had arrived, they would then move in closer, until it was time to pounce. They had been warned that they had been armed and that they would most likely still be armed. John sat and watched how Sherlock demanded attention just by being there. He smiled. He knew that he wasn’t needed in all of this. He knew that he was just there because that’s where he always was. By Sherlock’s side as he ran around being brilliant. A female officer had tried flirting with him, commenting on how much she loved his blog, making sure to mention how heroic she thought he was. Greg was talking to a group of four officers at the time, and Sherlock was staring straight at the woman, not glaring, but definitely watching her. He smiled a little, however, when her face fell and John moved away from her, and sat next to Sherlock, wrapping his arm around the back of his chair, brushing his hand across his back as he did so. It did not go unnoticed by the other two, although they gave each other a look after that they’d discuss it later, as they were in the middle of a huge triple-murder investigation and that exact moment was not the time for Mycroft to pull out his ‘I told you so’ card which Greg always found a little bit too hot for public consumption.

After a long day of meetings and preparations for the next day, the four men were heading back to the house, where they’d been informed that dinner was waiting for them. Molly and Rosie had also had a busy and productive day. First of all they went shopping, where they had little bit of an incident with Rosie deducing the woman at the till, which made the woman burst into tears. Molly had told her off, but felt mean doing so, knowing that her Papa would probably praise her for it and be glad that she had followed in his footsteps. After the shopping was back at the house, the girls went on an adventure. They watched a couple of street acts, which Rosie loved, and then went to see if they could find Arthur’s seat, which fascinated Rosie due to it being an inactive volcano. Rosie fell asleep in her pram on the walk back to the house, which was a relief to Molly. It meant she had some down time. As much as she loved the little girl, she was incredibly intelligent and stimulating her brain to keep her from being bored was a massive task. She was still so small and had so much ahead of her. Molly smiled as she watched the little girl snoring lightly, wrapped up in her blanket on the sofa. She looked so much like Mary when she was asleep and it was so hard for Molly to see her friend. Mary had sacrificed everything for John and Sherlock to be happy. Molly was having a hard time without Mary. She and Mrs Hudson were the only women in this little family unit and, even though she didn’t mind all of that testosterone around (having grown up around a lot of males), she missed Mary massively. Rosie woke up and contented herself with a pad of paper and some coloured pencils, trying to copy the shapes of the letters Molly had written down for her.

Once the boys arrived home, it was all go on the dinner front. Molly had made a lasagne, from scratch, whilst Rosie napped, so John had insisted he make the salad and cook the garlic bread to go with it.

“How was your day?”, John asked Molly.

“Good, yeah… We had slight issue in the supermarket, where Rosie told the woman behind the till that if she wanted to be happier then she shouldn’t be in a secret relationship with her supervisor, who was married. Luckily none of her colleagues heard.”

“She really did that? Well done, Rosie… I am so proud.”, Sherlock said, picking Rosie up and spinning her around.

“Erm… Sherlock…”, John warned, his face saying, ‘bit not good, Sherlock’.

“Oh, right, erm… Well done on the deduction Rosie, but that was a bit mean and not everyone wants to know that you can see their deepest, darkest secrets. You must tell me how you saw it though.”, Sherlock told the child.

“Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get.”, Greg chuckled, as John rolled his eyes (but he was smiling) and Sherlock and Rosie began talking quietly to each other. Mycroft was sat in the same chair he had been sat in the night before, typing ferociously on his laptop and sighing once in a while.

“Everything alright, love?”, Greg asked his partner.

“It would be if the chancellor of the exchequer was competent but, alas, it falls to me, again, to fix his mess. Poor Anthea is going out of her mind because someone told him that he was right for the job. He is as thick as two short planks.”

“Minor position in the British government, right, Mycroft?”, John smirked.

“Yes, very funny, John…”, Mycroft huffed, but his mouth did curl into a smile just enough for John to know that he secretly liked him.

John remained in the kitchen and Rosie and Sherlock were upstairs, so it gave Molly a chance to show the other two the picture she had quickly snapped that morning, and they told her about how John had rejected an attractive blonde’s advances and then had proceeded to go straight to Sherlock’s side.

“Well, it seems as though you were right, love.”, Greg smiled at Mycroft.

“I’m always right, dear… It’s how this works.”, Mycroft smiled, before pecking his partner’s lips and heading upstairs to put his laptop away safely.

“You know, Moll… We are all so grateful for your help this week.”, Greg told his good friend.

“Really, Greg. It’s nothing. I mean, it’s the least I can do. Just sorry I couldn’t help more by being on the post-mortems. Rosie is an angel and I’m happy to look after her.”, she smiled.

“Well, I just thought you should know.”, Greg told her, with a smile.

Whilst everyone ate dinner, Greg, Mycroft and Molly chose to ignore the presence of Sherlock’s hand on John’s thigh. When Sherlock had first put his hand there, John had flinched a little bit but soon settled, despite the pinkness of his cheeks. They ate and chatted, and Rosie was happily telling the group about the inactive volcano she had seen earlier in the day. Everything finally seemed to be fine, in John’s eyes, but of course, that didn’t last for as long as he’d hoped.

There was a knock at the door, after Rosie had been put to bed, so Greg went to answer it, as Sherlock was lay across John, once again, this time his head in his lap instead of his feet. And John absentmindedly played with his curls as he read a book that he’d been wanting to read for ages: Emma by Jane Austen. Greg came back into the living room, followed by another man, who was a similar height to Mycroft and had light brown hair and eyes that seemed to stare straight into John’s soul, which made him feel uncomfortable. Upon seeing the man, Sherlock had bolted up straight and had put distance between himself and John, moving to the other end of the sofa, which made John extremely confused.

“Well, Mycroft… You didn’t mention I would get to see my Will.”, the man smiled.

“That’s because you’re here to talk to me. Not my brother. Now, if we may convene in the study, we have matters to attend to. Goodnight, John, Sherlock… I’ll be up soon, love.”, Mycroft said, before leading the man away, who took one last longing glance at Sherlock, before going about his duty.

“Who is that?”, John asked, and it was Greg who answered as Sherlock was just sat there staring after the man who was no longer stood there.

“He said his name was Oliver Grady. Said something about Mycroft asking him to come about a matter of national importance. Although, I didn’t know that Myc was doing so much other work whilst we were up here.”, Greg said.

“Well, you know what he’s like, Greg…”, John smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Greg went back to reading his book and Molly sat dozing in the chair, so hadn’t seen any of the exchange. Greg knew he’d have to fill her in on Mycroft’s plan if things were going to work out as they’d planned, but he’d have to do that once the case was over with and the Baker Street Boys weren’t around.

John tried to focus on his book but found himself reading the same sentence a hundred times because he couldn’t concentrate. Sherlock was still staring at the space where the man had been stood, no particular emotion showing on his face but he remained silent. Even Sherlock’s breathing seemed to be non-existent, like he was holding his breath.

Deciding to intervene, John asked, “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

Sherlock, however, didn’t say anything. He, instead, stood, got his coat on and left the house into the dusk. Greg smiled sympathetically at John but Sherlock leaving had just made John angry, more than anything else. They had been making progress, in his eyes. The open physical signs of affection that had been exchanged between the two, and now, upon the arrival of a handsome stranger, all of that had gone out of the window and Sherlock was acting as though John didn’t exist. Annoyed, John got up too, but headed upstairs, after saying goodnight to Greg, and got into bed. The last time he’d looked at the clock, before falling asleep was half past two in the morning, and there was no sign of Sherlock then, so he wasn’t exactly surprised to find the other side of the bed cold when he’d been woken by his alarm later that morning.


	8. Chapter Eight

Molly and Rosie stayed out of the boys’ way as they got ready and ate breakfast. During all of this, there was still no sign of Sherlock and, as they were leaving, Mycroft informed John that Sherlock would be meeting them there. John didn’t know what to think. He hadn’t been able to get to sleep due to running the events of the evening over and over in his mind, trying to figure out if he’d done anything wrong. The mysterious Oliver Grady had appeared and turned everything upside down. In all of the time that John had known Sherlock, he had never seen him act like that. He hadn’t even reacted that badly to the Woman, so John knew that this man was important, in some way. The way Mycroft had spoken to him too and how Oliver had said ‘My Will’, as though he owned Sherlock. John didn’t like it. He didn’t like it one bit.

Mycroft and Greg sat in the front of the car, watching as John sat in the back, scowling to himself. Greg felt bad. He knew that Mycroft knew what he was doing but, at that moment, it seemed to be doing more harm than good. John had already been through so much but, and this pain was unnecessary. John wasn’t stupid. Greg knew that. And he knew that he would be making assumptions as to who Oliver was and would probably be right in those assumptions. It was clear that Sherlock and Oliver had history. That issue, however, was put to one side in Greg’s mind as the car stopped, a few streets away from the house of the Brown’s, and they got out to walk the rest of the way. As they walked, Mycroft laced his fingers through his, and Greg felt guilty. Not because he didn’t enjoy it, but because he knew that John would see and that it would make him feel worse.

Sherlock was sat in the library when the others entered, his eyes closed and his hand steepled under his chin. John huffed with irritation and went to sit away from Sherlock, behind one of the book-shelves, where he knew he wouldn’t be able to see him. Greg looked towards Mycroft, who didn’t seem fazed, but Greg felt like the tension in the room could be cut like a knife. The Holmes boys were, as always, oblivious to something that seemed so obvious.

They had been sat not even half an hour when the front door was answered to the criminal pair, and Sherlock’s eyes shot open. All of John’s irritations seemed to dissipate as he went into ‘Vatican Cameos’ mode, and he moved to Sherlock’s side, somewhat subconsciously, so that he was there in case anything was to happen. Greg and Mycroft were on high alert also. They all listened carefully to conversation:

“What a lovely surprise, Richard, dear… You did not tell us you would be coming.”, Mrs Brown had said, the smiled evident in her voice. Greg and John had shared a look, saying, ‘She is bloody good at that’.

“And I apologise, but myself and my friend here, Perry, need your help, if you could.”, he pleaded, which sounded genuine.

“Of course, dear… We’d be happy to help. Wouldn’t we, love?”, Mrs Brown asked her husband.

“Anything for the love of my Janie’s life.”, he replied, which sounded genuine too.

The two men then told the married couple a lie of how they were innocent but being accused of a horrid crime, but they did not divulge the details of that crime, as Sherlock had hoped. He had wanted them to be more elaborate but they had been boring, instead. After a few more minutes, with the criminals being none the wiser, Greg gave the nod and it was all systems go. The house descended into chaos as the two criminals realised what was happening and the Browns ran to get out of the house, as had been instructed, so they were not injured. The back-up had been called, but in the scuffle, Greg had been pinned to the floor by Perry, who had a knife, an inch above his head. Luckily, Mycroft was to hand, as he picked up the heaviest thing in his vicinity (which happened to be vase) and smacked it across the back of the man’s head, knocking him out in the process. Meanwhile, Richard also had a knife and was attacking John. Sherlock was trying to pull the man back, but he was a lot stronger, and flung Sherlock across the room, making his back smash into a wall and for him to get winded. John had quick reflexes, but the skill of the man he was fighting meant the knife was plunged right into his right arm, causing him to scream out in pain. By that time, luckily, the reinforcements were arriving and (due to unconscious Perry), Greg and Mycroft were able to restrain Richard for long enough before the other officers got to him.

“John… Oh my God, John… PARAMEDIC!”, Sherlock panicked, shouting and trying to get to him, but was struggling due to the ribs (that he was sure were broken) hurting.

Mycroft immediately aided his brother towards the injured man just as the paramedics were tending to John.

“John… John… Can you hear me?”, Sherlock asked, placing his hand on John’s cheek.

John was writhing, and grunting in pain, but asked, “Sherlock… Can you promise me something?”

“Anything.”

“You look after our daughter… If anything happens, you must look after her.”, John said.

“Of course, John… Of course, I will. But, you will get through this. You have to get through this. Please… I need you.”, Sherlock said, tears rolling down his cheeks, with John not being able to catch them before they fell, like he usually did.

John then slipped into unconsciousness, as he was taken towards the ambulance outside and Sherlock melted, sobbing into his brother’s chest, Mycroft’s arm protectively around his little brother. Greg was torn. The situation itself gave him the feeling that he may cry too but the affection between the two brothers made him want to smile. John was taken to the hospital, with Sherlock following in the car, whilst Mycroft and Greg finished up with the investigation. Sherlock didn’t make any noise but the tears still rolled down his cheeks as he sat beside John’s bedside. He felt awful. He knew John would have been angry with him for the sudden loss of his company the previous night. And the fact that Sherlock hadn’t offered up any explanation. The appearance of Oliver had thrown him massively. The last time they had seen each other, hadn’t exactly gone well. Sherlock had been so young. He was barely 23. But, he had found a safe haven with Oliver. They had been together for a while. In fact, he knew that Sebastian Wilkes had always been good friends with Oliver and had found himself surprised when Oliver wasn’t mentioned when they had gone to the bank. He had been grateful that he wasn’t mentioned though. Mycroft had never approved of Oliver but had seen how happy his brother had been so didn’t say anything. Things changed in their relationship when Sherlock was in his final year of University… Oliver had got in with a new crowd. He’d started taking drugs so Sherlock did too. He was imprisoned and Sherlock was nearly too, until Mycroft intervened. Mycroft had nearly found Sherlock dead that day, high as a kite in a drug den, lay in his own vomit and other bodily fluids. Sherlock had then been kept way from Oliver, which he hated Mycroft for. The last time they saw each other had been painful. It turned out that Oliver, in the two weeks that Sherlock hadn’t seen him, hadn’t just been with someone else, he had, in fact, got married. His mother had made him, it had seemed, to clean his act up and get him straightened out, quite literally. Sherlock was heart-broken and had declared himself married to his work, from that moment.


	9. Chapter Nine

“Well, that worked out…”, Sherlock thought to himself, staring at John who was breathing steadily but looked ghastly, due to the amount of blood he had lost.

Sherlock kept a hold of John and ended up falling asleep, his head placed next to John’s good arm.

“Papa?”, Sherlock heard, sitting up to find Molly and Rosie.

“Oh, Rosie… My gorgeous girl.”, Sherlock smiled, putting his arms out to receive his daughter.

“Will Dada be okay, Papa?”, she asked, her eyes red from crying.

“Of course, he will, darling. Everything will be okay.”, Sherlock said, trying to convince himself at the same time.

After some time, John came around a little, and insisted that he was fine to go back to the house the next day, as he had his arm in a sling, the wound was dressed and he could take painkillers himself. The doctor on his case wasn’t exactly thrilled at first but once Mycroft intervened everything was fine. The two criminals, it seemed, were confined and were awaiting questioning. The Browns were fine, after being a little shaken at the state of their living room and because of the whole ordeal.

That night, when Sherlock climbed into bed, without John, he felt the loss. He didn’t sleep a wink. And when Rosie came and crawled into bed with him, at around half five the next morning, he wept silently. Sherlock took the car to pick up John from the hospital and made sure to have his hand on the small of John’s back as they left the hospital. He also carried John’s bag for him, which seemed to surprise John a little.

On John’s part, he seemed to be slightly reluctant to be near Sherlock at first, still annoyed slightly for Sherlock running away at the sight of the mystery man. That soon changed though as John realised how much Sherlock had been there for him, through this ordeal. Also due to the fact that he nearly left Sherlock on his own. He thought he was going to die, in fact. But, luckily, the wound wasn’t as deep as he’d thought. The shit hit the fan, once again, however, when the pair got back to the house and found Oliver sat in the living room, drinking a cup of tea. Sherlock immediately pulled his hand away from John and left the room, leaving John stood there, in pain and discomfort (not just because of his arm). He gave the man a tight-lipped smile and left the room too. He went upstairs to find Sherlock sat on the bed, staring at the wall.

“Sorry… I’ll leave you to it.”, John said.

“No… Don’t go. I, uh… Have some explaining to do.”, Sherlock told him.

“Well, it wouldn’t exactly go amiss. I haven’t seen you act this was around anyone. Sherlock… Who is that man?”, he asked, sitting next to Sherlock.

“He is my ex-boyfriend, John.”, Sherlock said, with a shaky breath, examining John’s face for his reaction.

“Ok, but you literally freeze around him, Sherlock. That’s not you. And it’s not what people normally do around exes. What happened?”, he asked.

“It’s a long story…”, Sherlock sighed.

“I’m all ears.”, John told him.

“We met at Uni. I was doing Chemistry, obviously, and he was studying marine biology. He didn’t make fun of me like everyone else did, and found my quirks fascinating, rather than irritating. We were friends at first until, one night, after being in the labs until late, he kissed me. We were together for a year and a half… Things changed, though. He got some new friends and started doing drugs. I took them too, to keep him happy and with me. I think I thought that he would leave me if I didn’t do what he was. He then got in trouble with the police, and Mycroft stepped in. I had always known that Mycroft didn’t like him, but he never said anything until then. In the two weeks I didn’t see him, he got married to a childhood friend. His mother had been involved, it would seem, as she wanted him to clean his act up. The drugs were already there, so I turned to them as comfort. The last time I saw Oli… Well, things didn’t go well. He’d started hitting me after a year and I’d let it happen because I was in love with him. The last time I saw him, I confronted him. He was married, by that time, so I knew I’d nothing else left to lose. He beat me so hard that I had to be operated on. I never saw him again.”, Sherlock explained.

“I’m so sorry, Sherlock… I hit you, too. I kicked you when you were down. I abused you too. So why did you forgive me? Especially after what you had already been through?”, John asked, tears threatening to fall.

“You had just lost your wife, John and had been left to look after a small child alone. And you’re you, John. I have done terrible things to you, that you have forgiven me for, and I will always forgive you.”, Sherlock explained.

“And he is just sat downstairs, drinking tea and smiling. How fucking dare he, Sherlock. You have a new life now. A family, even. You have a daughter. What does Mycroft think he’s doing bringing him here?”, John asked.

“Well, I knew that he had gone into government work. It must be something to do with that.”, Sherlock told him.

“Right…”, John nodded.

At that moment, his phone beeped, and lit up, telling him he had a text:

Hope you got home alright. Rosie and I are planning on a walk down the Mile, if you’re up for it? And bring Sherlock – Moll x

We’ll meet you by the castle – John x

“We’re meeting Molly and Rosie by the castle.”, John told Sherlock.

“We?”, Sherlock smiled, jokingly.

“Yes, we. You’re not staying in this house with that man for any longer than is physically necessary. We’re going to check out some street acts, I think.”, John told him, smiling a little, getting up from the bed.

“Don’t forget your medication, John.”, Sherlock told him.

“Look at you… Being all domesticated.”, John joked, gaining a smile from Sherlock in reply.

The pair left the house not even five minutes after and began to walk towards the castle. Due to the crowds, Sherlock found himself reaching for John, once they got closer, wrapping his arm around his waist and pulling him close, but also making sure to not hurt John’s arm in the process. John smiled massively at the gesture and didn’t move away or make a fuss.


	10. Chapter Ten

Rosie spotted her Fathers first, pointed and waving, which made Molly look over in their direction, smiling. (A smile that grew even bigger when she saw that Sherlock’s arm was wrapped around his blogger’s waist). When they reached the girls, Sherlock pulled his arm away from John, just to place Rosie on his shoulders, before he pulled John back towards him. Molly pushed the empty pram, which was doubling as a luggage trolley, smiling like an idiot. Rosie was loving being so high up because she could see right down the street. A few people recognised Sherlock and John, but didn’t go up to them, due not wanting to disturb the family holiday. After a few minutes of walking, the group stopped to watch a children’s magician, who Rosie seemed to fall in love with. Where John and Molly joined in the fun, laughing at the bad jokes and showing their appreciation of skill, Sherlock stood there rolling his eyes and huffing. John elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a look, so he stopped but still stood with a scowl. After they’d begun to walk again, John spotted a stand, where they were selling tickets to a ghost tour and smiled. Whilst Sherlock went to the toilet, and Molly and Rosie were picking out souvenirs for the child’s Uncle Greg, Uncle Mycroft and Nana Hudson, John bought two tickets for a midnight walk the next day, knowing it would be even more fun to go on a ghost walk with Sherlock debunking everything that was said. 

The four of them walked a little further, until Rosie began falling asleep on Sherlock’s shoulders, slumping so that she was using the top of her Papa’s head as a pillow. Sherlock carefully brought Rosie down and placed the young girl in her pram, and the three agreed to take her back to the house, where she could nap peacefully.

“What shall I cook for dinner? I can do shepherd’s pie, meatballs in a tomato sauce, tarragon chicken or I can do something else? We’ll have to see what we have in as to what I can come up with.”, Molly asked the pair, who were walking beside her, Sherlock still very my keeping John close.

“Tarragon chicken sounds good, Mol, but maybe something simpler tonight? I had a text when I went to loo. I’m needed with Greg and Mycroft. So is John, if he’s feeling up to it. After all, there will be an extra charge on Smith for the attempted murder of John.”, Sherlock told her.

“Okay… How about I do shepherd’s pie then? It’s the easiest to warm up and I don’t need to make any veg to go with it because I always put the veg inside it.”, Molly told him.

“Perfect. Thank you.”, Sherlock smiled, before giving her a friendly peck to the cheek.

“So, John… Are you going to go with Sherlock?”, Molly asked.

“Probably… I’ll take my tablets now. They should kick in by the time we get back and then I’ll be fine. I’m not really in any pain. It’s mainly just uncomfortable.”, John said.

“That’s understandable.”, Molly smiled.

Deciding against the long walk back to the house, the four of them climbed on a bus, which stopped a street away. John was in no condition to be walking for much longer, and (although John didn’t say that he was getting tired) Sherlock had noticed John’s tiredness and had suggested they take the bus. From the house, Sherlock drove the hire car to the station, so that the boys would have it to go home in, once the case had been wrapped up. Luckily, there didn’t seem to be any sign of Oliver when they got home, and John decided against mentioning it, not wanting to push it, as Sherlock had done well by opening up to him about it. The drive to the station was made in a comfortable silence, with Sherlock focussing on the road ahead, and John staring out of the window of the passenger seat, watching the city go by. It was nice to be in a big city that wasn’t London, for a change. Sherlock thrived in the cities, it seemed, but also enjoyed the peace of the country (even though he got bored more easily). Edinburgh was a gorgeous city, with its deep history and modernised areas being knitted together seamlessly. John appreciated being away from London with his family, even if the main reason was for a case. He hoped that, in the future, there would be more opportunities to travel and go away for a while. He was sure that the criminal classes could behave themselves for long enough to take Rosie to Disney for her third birthday, which had been an idea he’d had for a while, but had not been able to discuss it with Sherlock, due to the case.

Upon arriving, it was all systems go. Mycroft and John stood in the viewing space, just off the interview room of Richard Smith, as he bullshitted about how it had all been Perry and how he was a victim of circumstance as he was easily manipulated. Mycroft watched with a perfect poker face, which John figured he would need in his line of work, but John found himself getting extremely annoyed. Sherlock, after about 40 minutes, brought up the fact that John had been stabbed and Smith, once again, tried to claim innocence and say that John was the one who had pulled the knife on him, and he had accidentally stabbed him whilst trying to tackle it off him.

“Mr Smith, you need to think very carefully about you say next, as we were both there to witness you pulling the knife. Not only have you been the one who has made the most impact in this case, with you leading Dickinson, you have also blatantly lied to us. We know you were the ones doing small jobs. We have you on CCTV. We know that you are the one who convinced Dickinson to approach a 14-year-old girl in Horsforth, as you have been positively identified. Also, we know you’re lying because Perry Dickinson told me everything, from start to finish. Now, if you want to continue claiming innocence, then I suggest you make yourself scarce. We have some very good contacts on Prosecution.”, Greg told the man.

Sherlock had been too angry with the man to speak and was using all of his will power to stop himself from reaching over the desk and nutting the man who had hurt John Watson. Mycroft kept his poker face but made a mental note to tell Greg, in explicit detail, how attractive he was when he was in charge of a situation. By that time, due to the long amount of time, John was sat with a cup of coffee, sipping at it and trying to keep his arm comfortable. John appreciated how good Greg was at his job and was grateful it was not just Sherlock in that room with Smith, as he was sure that Smith would be having his face rearranged.

Smith then spilt everything to the pair, and sat in despair, as Greg and Sherlock joined the other two in the next room.

“We haven’t spoken to Dickinson yet…”, Mycroft smiled.

“I know. But I also knew that if he thought Dickinson had cracked then he would tell us everything. Dickinson has already told officers that he is sorry and that he has done it. It won’t be as difficult to get a full confession out of him.”, Greg told him.

“Well, Greg… I must admit. That is genius.”, Sherlock told him.

“Stop the press, people. We have a corker… Sherlock Holmes has called Greg Lestrade a genius.”, John commented, chuckling, causing Greg to also chuckle and for the Holmes boys to smile a little.

“So… Dickinson?”, Sherlock asked Greg.

“Dickinson.”, Greg nodded, taking a gulp out of a bottle of water before the pair headed back into the interview room, where Smith had been removed, and Dickinson was now sat, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands.

“Don’t worry, John… I know your arm is uncomfortable, but this won’t take much longer. I’d say 20 minutes, at the most.”, Mycroft smiled.

“Thanks, Mycroft.”, John replied.

The eldest Holmes was right in his prediction, and the four of them were on their way back to the house, within the hour, all satisfied with the confessions they had got, knowing the case would be solid, and they would be convicted.


	11. Chapter Eleven

“What’s for dinner?”, Greg asked.

“Molly is doing shepherd’s pie. It was deemed to easiest thing to warm up if we were going to be massively late.”, John told him.

“I like shepherd’s pie.”, Mycroft commented, clearly tired from the events of past few days.

“Of course, you do, Mycroft. It has the word pie in it.”, Sherlock joked, causing them all to start chuckling uncontrollably and almost hysterically. It shouldn’t have been that funny, but they were all feeling the effects of the loss of adrenaline after another case solved and a confession in the bag.

The smell that hit the boys, as they entered the house, was a welcome one, and caused even Sherlock’s stomach to grumble in anticipation of food.

“Ah… Perfect timing. I was just about to serve up. Oliver is here, by the way. There is enough for him so I said he could stay for dinner. I hope you don’t mind.”, Molly smiled.

“Not at all.”, Greg smiled, leaving Sherlock’s good mood to come crashing down, something which John must have sensed, as he immediately placed his hand in Sherlock’s and linked their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze. Sherlock looked at John and gave him a tight-lipped smile of gratitude, before Rosie came thundering into the hall, meaning Sherlock had to let go of John as his daughter dived at them, so that she wouldn’t catch her Dad’s sore arm.

“Dada! Papa! I’m so glad you’re back!”, Rosie exclaimed, hugging her Fathers to death.

“Oh, really?”, John asked.

“Yes, Dada. And, guess what? Auntie Molly helped me and I can write my name.”, Rosie told them.

“Really? Let’s see then…”, Sherlock grinned, putting his daughter down, so she could lead them to where she had been writing at the coffee table in the living room.

Rosie picked up her pink pencil (the colour not going unnoticed by her Papa) and began to write her name with the upmost concentration written on her face, her tongue sticking out of the side of the mouth as she formed the shapes to create the letters of her name. Sherlock and John watched on in awe. It had been heard of for more advanced children to be able to talk from a fairly young age but their little girl could not only read simple books, but could also write her name. A lot of four-year- old children couldn’t manage that task, and Rosie would be two months away from turning two, when they got back to London.

Once the girl had finished, she picked up the piece of paper, and presented it to her Fathers proudly.

“Wow, Rosie… You are a little star. That’s brilliant! Why don’t you go and show Uncle Mycroft and Uncle Greg? I think they’re in the kitchen with Auntie Molly.”, John beamed, as Sherlock grinned so widely his face starred to hurt.

“She’s perfect, John.”, Sherlock said, turning to his friend.

“She takes after you then, doesn’t she?”, John replied, wrapping his good arm around Sherlock’s waist. Sherlock brought his hand up to John’s cheek, and brought their foreheads together, not once breaking eye contact with John. John was sure he was going to kiss him, but Sherlock seemed content with just being close to him, which would do John nicely.

Someone cleared their throat, and the pair looked towards the door, to find Oliver stood there. The pair stayed as close as they had been, which Oliver seemed to be slightly irritated by.

“I am sent to bid you come into dinner.”, Oliver said, with a fake smile, the quote from Much Ado About Nothing (one of Sherlock’s favourite Shakespeare plays during his uni days) not going unnoticed by the detective.

“Thanks.”, John said, his hand finding Sherlock’s, as it had done earlier, before they followed the intruder into their family to the table.

“Ah, there you two are… Rosie has just been showing us her writing.”, Greg smiled, noticing that their hands were entwined, but didn’t mention it.

“I got a high five and a kiss on the cheek from Uncle Myc, Papa.”, Rosie exclaimed.

“Did you now?”, Sherlock smiled, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Now, now, my Rose… Don’t go telling people that I am nice. I have a reputation to uphold.”, Mycroft joked, smiling at his niece.

“It’s ok, Myc. We all know you’re a soft arse when you want to be.”, Greg smiled, before placing a kiss to his partner’s temple.

“Where’s mine?”, Rosie asked, crossing her arms playfully.

Rolling his eyes, with a smile, Greg then placed a kiss to Rosie’s cheek, which caused her to giggle with excitement, a sight that made even Oliver smile.

Oliver sat at the table, directly opposite Sherlock, which did not go unnoticed by John, but he\ didn’t say anything. It was Greg’s turn for Rosie mealtime patrol, as was agreed prior to the trip to give both Molly and the Baker Street Boys a break once in a while.

“An féidir leat an salann agus an piobar le do thoil, Scottie?”, Mycroft asked his brother, so Sherlock passed the salt and pepper over, as he’d been asked to, not batting an eyelid that he hadn’t been asked in English.

“Er… Myc?”, Greg asked, looking at his partner confused.

“Yes, love?”, Mycroft questioned.

“What language was that?”

“Oh, Irish… Sherlock and I used to play a game, when he was little, where we’d ask each other for the salt and pepper in a different language. We learnt it in 26 languages in the end, just to change things up a bit.”, Mycroft informed them all, although he was mainly talking to Greg.

“We used to have conversations in French all of the time, didn’t we, Sherlock?”, Oliver piped up.

“Erm… Yes.”, Sherlock replied, finding his food massively fascinating all of a sudden.

“Tu m’as beaucoup manqué, mon amour. J’aurais aimé que nous ne soyons jamais séparés.”, Oliver said, staring at Sherlock longingly.

“Is now the time to mention that both Mycroft and I are fluent in French too?”, Greg said, glaring at Oliver.

“You may be, but John isn’t.”, Oliver smirked, causing Sherlock to place his hand on John’s knee and squeeze, which seemed to come as a comfort to him, as he glared at Oliver too.

“Anyway… Rosie. Why don’t you tell us something new that you have learnt today?”, Molly said, quickly trying to diffuse the tension. Rosie had been eating happily, until she had noticed that her Uncle’s attention was now on the strange man at the other end of the table.

Her eyebrows still knitted, Rosie began to say, “The Earth is part of a solar system which resides in the galaxy called the Milky Way. We’re the third planet from the sun. I haven’t learned all of the names yet but I know that Mercury is the closest to the sun, and that it’s smaller than the Earth.”

John calmed as his daughter spewed the new information at the group, ignoring the smug stare he was receiving from Oliver. Sherlock, having finished his food, had moved the arm closest to John around the back of his chair, and his other hand now rested on his thigh, his whole body turned in towards John.

Dinner then passed by seemingly alright, and there were no more incidents from Oliver, who was whisked away from the table as soon as he had finished eating and taken to the office by Mycroft.


	12. Chapter Twelve

The group left in the kitchen fell back into their normal rhythm, with Greg offering to do the washing up, leaving Molly to call an early night, saying it was her turn for bath and bed duty with Rosie, despite her looking after her during the day. That left Sherlock and John to sit quietly in the living room, the pair taking up the armchairs by the window.

“I’m sorry.”, Sherlock said, once they had been sat for a few minutes in a comfortable silence.

“What are you sorry for?”, John asked, looking up from his book.

“Oliver… What he said to me, knowing you wouldn’t be able to understand him.”, Sherlock replied.

“What did he say? Just out of curiosity.”, John asked.

“He just said that he had missed me and he wished we had never been apart, which is stupid. I mean, how much more obvious can it be that I have moved on and that I love you now. I haven’t even thought about him in years. Well, since I fell for you after you shot the bad cabbie, anyway… I mean, it’s literally been years, why would he think…”, Sherlock said until he was cut off by a pair of lips covering his, shocking him into silence. It wasn’t a long kiss, but warmth spread from Sherlock’s chest throughout his body, and he smiled a little.

“What was that for?”, he asked John.

“Well, it was mainly to stop you from talking…”, John smiled.

“Oh…”, Sherlock grinned.

“One thing you did say, though, is that you love me… Is that true?”, John asked.

“Yes… I love you, John. I have for a long time.”, Sherlock admitted, bowing his head slightly, expecting to be shot down or friend zoned.

“Well, I love you too.”, John smiled, causing Sherlock’s head to snap up, and for him to stare at John in shock.

“Are you sure?”, Sherlock asked, still very clearly shocked.

“What sort of question is that? Come here, you daft git…”, John smiled, pulling Sherlock’s arm towards him, so that he could reach to kiss him, properly this time. Sherlock smiled into the kiss, which was soft and sweet, and he revelled at the taste of John’s lips, something he had dreamed about for years.

Pulling away, reluctantly, Sherlock asked, “Bed?”

“Thought you’d never ask. I’m shattered.”, John smiled, standing and pulling Sherlock up too. After a small peck to Sherlock’s lips, John then laced his fingers through his mad detective’s and led them up the stairs to bed. The pair changed for sleeping and, once John had taken his tablets and had taken his sling off, the pair climbed into bed and snuggled close, sharing one last kiss before falling asleep, both with smiles on their faces. 

Unbeknownst to the boys, Greg had witnessed their conversation, from the living room door, and made sure to inform Mycroft as they lay in bed later that night.

“Well, my love… It seems that I owe you twenty quid.”, Greg said, as his partner snuggled closer to him.

“Keep it, love. You can take me to dinner instead.”, Mycroft replied sleepily, before they shared a goodnight kiss, and they too went to sleep.

As John woke in a daze, the next morning, he was slightly shocked to find that he was the only one in the room. After what had happened the night before, he began to panic that he had scared Sherlock away and that everything he’d worked so hard to not ruin now had been because he’d initiated the kiss.

All of his doubts, however, disappeared when Sherlock appeared at the bedroom door, a breakfast tray in his hands and Rosie following close behind with a beaming smile.

“What’s all of this?”, John asked with a smile.

“Well, I thought we could have a family breakfast in bed. You’re still not 100% John and won’t be for a while yet, and Rosie was all too willing to help out.”, Sherlock replied, climbing on the bed next to John, before helping Rosie up too.

“That’s so sweet, Sherlock.”, John smiled, before cautiously pecking Sherlock’s cheek, a gesture that was returned on his lips, with a blush.

The three of them tucked into a breakfast of eggs and bacon with toast, accompanied by a glass juice each (and some pain killers for John). Once they had finished, Rosie toddled off to find her Auntie Molly, leaving the boys to themselves for a moment.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John carefully, and pulled him into his side, so that they were both sat up against the head rest of the bed, comfortable and together.

“Do you think Greg and Mycroft will mind having Rosie for us tonight?”, John asked.

“I don’t think so. But, why?”, Sherlock replied, looking confused.

“Well, I’ve booked us on a ghost tour. Mainly to listen to you debunk it all afterwards.”, John smirked at him.

“In that case, I’ll make sure they can have her. Although, due to the new development in our relationship, they will be probably all too eager to let us go on a ‘date’ of sorts.”, Sherlock also smirked, before leaning over and capturing John’s lips softly. John moaned soft in content, before he pulled away and the pair began to get ready for the day.

When they went downstairs, Mycroft was sat smugly at the kitchen table, with Greg beaming like an excited child, and Molly also grinning from ear to ear.

“So, boys… Rosie informed us of the reason you didn’t join us for breakfast.”, Molly told them.

“Oh, and what did she say?”, John asked, making to stay away from Sherlock, as they had planned upstairs.

“She told us that you had a bed picnic for breakfast because Papa wanted to impress and kiss Dada again.”, Greg smiled.

“Did she now?”, Sherlock asked, giving Rosie a mock-stern stare, causing her to giggle and for her to hide behind her Auntie Molly with a grin.

“So, Greg… £20, was it?”, John asked the DI.

“Wait, what?”, Sherlock asked.

“Those two have had a bet on. Mycroft bet we would get together before Christmas.”, John informed him.

“Of course, he did.”, Sherlock said, rolling his eyes, but there wasn’t any malice in it, as there might have been before. The brothers really had turned a corner in their relationship. Sherrinford and the atrocities they faced together had made a bond between them. One that meant they had to stick together, or they would both fall completely apart.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

“What’s the plan for today?”, Molly asked.

“I have to go down to the station, Myc has some work with Oliver to get finished. We’ve booked for ‘Dynamic Earth’ for tomorrow though. Well, I have. My treat for my gorgeous niece.”, Greg smiled, tickling Rosie as she giggled hysterically.

“So, it’s a day of exploring or chilling around the house and playing in the garden.”, John said.

“I want to play in the garden, Dada, with you and Papa and Auntie Molly.”, Rosie told them.

“Then that is what we shall do.”, Sherlock smiled.

“I should hope so. It is what I asked for.”, Rosie stated, her hands on her hips.

“The cheek on you, lady.”, John chuckled, as the other grown-ups all laughed at the little girl.

Rosie just grinned before running out of the kitchen door to the garden, Bilbo, her hedgehog, in tow as she sang happily to herself.

“That kid is a star.”, Greg said.

“We’re glad you think so. Any chance you could keep an eye on her tonight? We have a ghost tour booked at midnight.”, John asked.

“Already going on a date and it hasn’t been 24 hours… Took me ages to get him to realise I was flirting.”, Greg said.

“Well, to be fair, Greg, they’ve been pinning after each other for a good 6 years, at least.”, Mycroft smiled.

“That’s true. And, whilst there aren’t any little ears listening in, I wanted to tell you all something. So, I’ve decided that I want a baby and I have been undergoing IVF with a sperm donor. When I told you, Sherlock, that I’d been having a bad day, when you called, it is because I had been informed that it hadn’t worked. But I wanted to make sure… This time it did and I’m 9 weeks pregnant.”, Molly smiled.

“Well, today is full of surprises… Congratulations, Mol! And, I’m sure, when I say this, that I speak for all of us, when I say that we’re all here for you through all of it.”, Greg smiled, giving Molly a hug.

“Agreed.”, both Holmes brothers said at the same time.

Molly got hugs of all four males (Mycroft included – which shocked her a little), and then Greg took the car and John and Sherlock went outside before Oliver arrived. They had all agreed to not tell Rosie just yet, what with the pregnancy being so early days, and so that she didn’t get too overexcited at the prospect of having a child to play, and no doubt teach.

Molly joined them after a few minutes, bringing drinks outside for everyone, before they spent the rest of the morning, and well into the afternoon, in the garden, running around with Rosie and chilling in the warm August sun. Surprisingly enough, it had yet to rain, which was common, not only in the UK, but especially at the Edinburgh Festival and Scotland in general. They had been extremely lucky, in that respect. Greg was finished just after lunchtime and then joined them all in the garden, having his turn to run around, leaving John and Sherlock to relax for a while on a blanket that had been laid down on the grass. Sherlock sat up, leaning back on his hands, watching his daughter chase his friends and play, whilst John (who had taken more painkillers) lay his head in Sherlock’s lap and dozed, due to the strong dosage of painkillers he was on.

Rosie came running over to her Fathers, shouting, “Dada, Papa!”

“Shhhh, Rosie-bear. Dada is asleep.”, Sherlock told her, picking her up and placing her on his hip.

“Why is Dada sleeping when it is the daytime and the sun is shining, Papa?”, Rosie asked Sherlock.

“Because Dada is still not well, Rosie. His tablets make him all sleepy. They make him better by making him sleepy.”, Sherlock explained.

“Dada is okay, Papa. Don’t worry.”, Rosie told him, placing her small hand on his cheek.

“What made you think I was worried?”, Sherlock asked her.

“Your eyes tell the truth, Papa. Your face says one thing but your eyes say another. Dada is the same. I know this because I can see it, Papa.”, Rosie explained.

Sherlock was shocked at how well the young girl perceived emotions, but then realised that they came from her Dad. Sherlock smiled and kissed Rosie on the cheek, before letting her run off. He then leant down and gave John’s lips a peck, causing John to open his eyes a little and give him a smile.

“That was a nice wake up call.”, he said.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Just couldn’t help myself.”, Sherlock smiled, pulling John in for a longer kiss this time.

“OI! Get a room!”, Greg shouted over at the pair, making Sherlock adamant to keep kissing John, with a smile, and John to carry on, also, but also to put his middle finger up at Greg whilst doing so.

Someone clearing their throat, however, caused them to pull apart and look up to find Mycroft and Oliver.

“Are we ever going to see the back of him?”, Sherlock huffed, so only John could hear.

“It’s alright, love. I know he doesn’t pose a threat. I trust you.”, John told him, as he sat up properly, so he was upright on the blanket.

Rosie looked over to where her Uncle had appeared in the garden, with the strange man she had met at dinner, and frowned.

“What are you doing here? I don’t like you.”, Rosie said, still frowning at the man, her arms crossed. No one knew how to react.

“Well, Sherlock… She certainly has your bluntness, that’s for sure. You really have made an impact on her, haven’t you? To say that she isn’t actually your daughter, that is.”, Oliver commented, smirking.

“Get out of the house. Now.”, Mycroft ordered, his face stern.

“It’s my house. I own it. You’re renting it off me. You lot should get out. I don’t want to see this queer display anymore. It’s disgusting.”, Oliver snorted, looking disgusted.

Greg looked as though he was about to hit him square in the nose, and Rosie had taken refuge with her Fathers and her Auntie Molly (who was stood protectively in front of the men and young girl despite her being pregnant).

“Actually, Oliver… You don’t own this house. Not anymore. I bought four off your Father, this being one of them, or did you forget that your Father sold me most of his estate, after what you did, not only to my little brother, but also to your wife. Now, I suggest you get out of MY house and if you come within 50 miles of my family ever again then, so God help me, you will not know what has hit you.”, Mycroft spat at the man, making him scoff and stand there for a second, before finally giving in and leaving the house.

“I can’t tell you how hot that was, Myc.”, Greg smiled, going over to his partner and wrapping his arms around his neck, making Mycroft bring his hands to Greg’s hips.

“Well, maybe you can show me later…”, Mycroft smirked, before kissing Greg sweetly on the lips.

“Ewww…”, Sherlock cringed, not used to seeing his big brother smooching anyone, let alone one of his best friends.

“Maybe it’s you two who should get a room.”, John chuckled.

“Don’t worry, John… I think they plan to.”, Molly smiled.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

The group then went into a comfortable routine of taking it in turns to run around with Rosie and have adult conversations and banter in the midst of entertaining the toddler. Not all was well, however. Unbeknownst to the small family, Oliver was not going to let the Holmes boys walk all over him once again and his revenge would be sweet.

For dinner, Molly made her famous tarragon chicken, with a little help from John and Greg, whilst the Holmes boys took it upon themselves to teach Rosie some new things that they thought would be useful. Dinner was a quiet affair, as was the evening after they had eaten. At around half past ten, after Rosie had been put to bed, Sherlock and John left the house, ready for their ghost tour. At first, Sherlock seemed nervous, and began the walk with his hands clasped behind his back. John noticed and smiled at how adorable Sherlock was being. John then grabbed Sherlock’s hand from behind him, laced their fingers together and brought Sherlock’s hand up to his lips and kissed it gently and as he did, he could see the nervous tension escape Sherlock’s shoulders and he seemed too relax pretty much immediately.

“You don’t need to worry, Sherlock. It’s just me.”, John told him, as they walked up past the castle, hand in hand.

“I know.”, Sherlock smiled, stopping for a moment to capture John’s lips softly.

“You haven’t done this in a while, have you?”, John asked him.

“Not properly, no. There was, of course, The Woman. And Janine. But they were just for a case. I’m not sexually attracted to women in any way at all.”, Sherlock replied.

“I thought you were attracted to The Woman.”. John told him, looking confused.

“No, she was attracted to me. There was a difference. And she was helping me to come to terms with my feelings towards you.”, Sherlock informed him.

“She was?”, John exclaimed, even more surprised.

“I saved her life John. I think that warrants a small favour in return.”, Sherlock smirked, causing John to smile widely.

“You do realise that I dated all of those girls, and counted all of her texts to you, because I was trying to make you jealous, don’t you?”, John told Sherlock.

“I’m afraid I realised all too late, my love.”, Sherlock told him, bringing their joint hands to his mouth and kissing the back of John’s lightly.

When they got to the meeting place, just in time, there were only five other people on the tour, what with most of Edinburgh attending Fringe shows. The woman doing the tour was a short, rather plump, blonde University student, who took on the job due to her love of Stephen King novels (all told to John by Sherlock, of course). They started their tour at Greyfairs Kirkyard, in Old Town Edinburgh. The story there was of a small dog, one named Greyfairs Bobby, who guarded the grave of his dead owner for more than 10 years after his owner had died. When the dog eventually died, he was buried in the cemetery also, in a piece of land just inside the gates of the cemetery. The woman told the group of how his bark can still be heard, but they didn’t hear anything that night. They were also told of the ghost of George McKenzie, a barrister who had been responsible for the deaths of thousands of Covenanters (which Sherlock had to explain to John). The tour guide even revealed that she, herself, had been pushed over by the ghost, as many others had, as she was passing his mausoleum. Sherlock scoffed at that, until John gave him his ‘bit not good’ look, and he stopped.

They looked at few more places, until they came to their last stop. Niddry Street Vaults, probably one of the most popular sites for paranormal activity in the city, according to their guide. The stories here were far more fascinating to Sherlock at the mention of Burke and Hare, and the possibility of them having stored murder victims down there. Sherlock, ever since he had been young, had been fascinated with the men who killed people and then sold them on for profit to science. It had meant that pathology came on in leaps and bounds. Sherlock was excited to talk to Molly about it. He knew she would love the history side of her incredible job.

On the way back, the chill set in a little, despite it being August and John found himself shivering a little as he only had a light jacket on. Sherlock didn’t say anything but took off his coat and wrapped it around John’s shoulders, before wrapping his arm around John’s waist and carrying on walking again. John was immediately warmed with joy.

When they got back to the house, John was confused to find the lights on downstairs, with it being extremely late, and going on for two in the morning.

“Do you think Mycroft is working late?”, John asked Sherlock, just before Greg appeared at the front door, dishevelled and looking as though he’d been crying.

“No. Something is wrong.”, Sherlock replied, before letting go and running up to Greg.

A tear escaped down Greg’s cheek as John also ran to catch up and he looked down, as though he was ashamed.

“Greg? What is it? Is it Mycroft? Is he hurt?”, John asked, a little out of breath.

“No, it isn’t Mycroft.”, Greg said, not quite looking the men in the eye.

Realisation dawning on Sherlock’s face, which made John even more confused, Sherlock looked on the verge of tears as he asked, “Greg… Where is Rosie?”

Greg broke down, ushering the pair inside, as Sherlock and John clung to each other, also beginning to cry.

“We didn’t leave her alone until bedtime. Mycroft was being particularly over-protective, which I should have thought more of but didn’t. He made sure that there was always at least one of us with her at all times. It should have rung alarm bells.”, Greg rambled.

“What are you saying? Greg… Where is my daughter?”, John asked him, as Sherlock stood, tears streaming down his face.

“We don’t know… Mycroft has gone to meet some people. He thinks, well, he says he knows, it was Oliver.”, Greg explained.

“That bastard…”, Sherlock commented through gritted teeth.

“Hasn’t he caused enough damage to the Holmes boys? For fuck’s sake… My baby is on her own… She’ll be scared and alone.”, John muttered, crying too.

“She’s not alone, though, John… He took Molly too. He must have drugged her whilst she was asleep because she would have made noise and struggled. We would have heard her.”, Greg commented.

“If she loses that baby… I will fucking end him.”, John said.

Sherlock had stayed unusually quiet throughout the whole conversation. He just stood and sobbed.

“Sherlock? We’ll get them back. We have to get them back… Please. Look at me.”, John said, still crying and cupping Sherlock’s cheeks, looking him in the eyes. His beautiful eyes were scared and full of fear.

“This is all my fault. Oliver would have never been able to hurt you, or Rosie, or Molly, if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault.”, Sherlock spluttered.

“No one is blaming you, love. I would never blame you. Not ever again. I’m sorry. Again, I’m sorry. I love you.”, John told him.

“You really love me? You’re not just saying it to make me feel better.”, Sherlock asked.

“Of course, I love you.”, John smiled a little.

“I love you too.”, Sherlock replied, before he leant forwards and kissed John softly on the lips. Both men could taste the salt of the other’s tears, which made more tears fall.

Once they’d pulled away, Sherlock seemed to leap into action.

“Right, Greg… We need to find them. Now. Any news off Mycroft?”, he asked.

“Nothing much, no. He’s talking to someone from high up in the government. Oliver will pay for this… I will kill him if I have to. You both don’t need this right now. None of us need any more shit thrown at us, for Christ’s sake. I’m sure Mycroft will ring when he knows something.”, Greg said.

“So, it’s just a waiting game? How am I supposed to just sit and wait whist my friend and my daughter are out there with that crazed lunatic? He has already put me in hospital before… If he touches one hair on either of their heads then he will wish he never laid eyes on me in the first place.”, Sherlock ranted.

“Come on, love… Mycroft won’t keep us in the dark for much longer. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through it.”, John said, pulling Sherlock onto the sofa, and pulling him in close, so that Sherlock ended up curled in a ball, his head resting on John’s shoulder.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Not five minutes later, after what seemed like an eternity of silence and Greg’s pacing, Mycroft came into the living room, a tired, worn look on his face. John and Sherlock immediately jumped up off the sofa and Greg stopped pacing.

“Brother Mine, John, my love… They’re being held near Scottish Parliament. Well, near Arthur’s Seat, really. There is a team on their way there now.”, Mycroft informed them.

“Are they harmed?”, Sherlock asked his brother.

“I’m afraid we don’t know, Scottie.”

“Well, can we go? I want to be there when Rosie is found. Please, Mycroft.”, John pleaded.

“Of course, John. There is a car outside waiting for us.”, Mycroft smiled a little, as though he had anticipated John’s pleas. Nodding, John ran upstairs and got a warmer jacket, so Sherlock could have his coat back, whilst Greg got some shoes and a jacket. They were out of the house really quickly and on their way.

When they arrived, they were greeted by police tape. After a word from Mycroft, all of them were let through.

“Ah, Daniel… Which building is it?”, Greg asked his fellow police officer, going into DCI mode without really realising it.

“Greg… Third building across, with the green machinery outside.”, Daniel informed him, with a small smile, before going off to talk to one of his superiors about the plan.

“It’s so strange… I’ve been in this situation before but not when there has been so much at stake.”, Sherlock said to John.

“What about the whole Moriarty and bomb situation?”, John asked him, knowing that keeping Sherlock talking was the best thing to do, so that he didn’t storm into the building and make the situation worse.

“I was different back then… Nothing mattered as much. You did, of course but I only had you to protect then. Now I have our daughter and she’s in there, with a mad man.”, Sherlock replied, gesturing to the building in exasperation that he felt like a spare part in the proceedings.

The cold summer night air bit at their faces as the pair watched police officers running around, trying to get everything ready for the rescue.

Inside the building, Rosie was crying, snuggled up to her godmother, who was trying her best not to join on the tears. Rosie had a suspected broken left arm, from what Molly could gather, and a gash to her right cheek.

“Auntie Molly… I’m scared.”, Rosie whimpered.

“I know, sweetheart, so am I. I’m sorry. Please don’t worry. Dada and Papa and Uncle Greg and Uncle Mycroft will come and save us. They always do.”, Molly said aloud, more as a comfort to herself than Rosie, who saw her Dads and Uncles as superheroes.

“Can we sing our song?”, Rosie asked Molly, which surprised her a little. It had been something that Molly used to do when Rosie was very small – sing to her.

“Of course. Do you remember it?”, Molly asked, shifting a little to hold the child tighter.

“Yes.”

They both sang together, “Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, never let it fade away. Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket, save it for a rainy day.”

As they were singing, Oliver, who had disappeared long before Molly had come around from slumber to find herself where she was, with Rosie hurt, and crying over her, came into the room. Molly pulled the little girl right into her chest and Rosie clung on for dear life.

“What do you want, Oliver? Don’t you think you’ve gone too far now?”, Molly asked, suddenly finding confidence, as if it was Mary who was speaking and not herself.

“Oh, Molly… Of course, I haven’t. You’re both still alive.”, Oliver smirked, coming further into the light, to reveal the wrench in his hand.

“I swear to God, Oliver… If you come anywhere near Rosie again, then I won’t hesitate to end you. She has already lost her mother. She is an innocent child. Let her go.”, Molly demanded.

“I don’t think so.”, Oliver smiled, lunging at Molly.

Molly placed Rosie on the floor and yelled, “Rosie, run!”

Rosie did just that. She ran as fast as her little legs would carry her to the door she had seen the nasty man come out of. Once she was through it, she found she was outside and carried on running. Tears streaming down her face, she cried as she shouted, “Help! Help!”

Sherlock’s ears pricked up at the sound of his daughter’s cries and he and John began running to the small figure, who was now running towards them.

She was scooped up immediately as John and Sherlock began to cry, both hugging her close and kissing her. They laughed a little out of relief, when Sherlock realised Molly was nowhere to be seen.

Pulling away from her Fathers, Rosie pleaded, “Papa… You have to help Auntie Molly. Please.”

John took full hold of Rosie, who had paramedics rushing towards her and said, “Go be Sherlock Holmes.” He pecked John’s lips and kissed the top of Rosie’s head, before he began careering towards the building with Greg hot on his heels.

Sherlock crashed through the door.

“Molly! Molly!”, he shouted, as he ran towards where he could see a body on the floor and another silhouetted, holding a wrench in their hand.

“Oh my God…”, Greg let out, running after Sherlock.

As they got closer, the person turned around, tears streaming down their face, their hair strewn and covered in gashes and bruises that had already begun forming. It was Molly.

“Molly… Oh my. Thank God, you’re okay.”, Greg said, pulling her into a hug, as Sherlock just stood there, looking down at Oliver, who was now dead.

“I just killed someone, Greg. I’m a murderer.”, Molly sobbed, clinging to Greg.

“No, Molly… You just saved my little girl’s life. And he was trying to kill you and your unborn child. It was self-defence.”, Sherlock told her, rubbing her back soothingly.

“That’s still an imprisonable offence.”, she said, pulling away slightly, to wipe her face with her trembling hands.

“Not when you have a friend who runs the British government.”, Sherlock smiled at her, gaining a small smile from both Molly and Greg.

“Come on, Mol. I think we should get you to the hospital.”, Greg said, as he began to lead her away from the body.

“I’ll just be a minute.”, Sherlock said, as he knelt beside Oliver’s body. Greg just nodded and told himself he wouldn’t let the team in until Sherlock was out.

Sherlock sat in silence for a minute or so, noticing how Oliver looked so much younger and calmer. It reminded him of all of the times he used to wake up next to him, when at University, and smile because of how peaceful he looked. Sherlock was glad that Molly had already closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure he could have handled seeing his first love’s eyes cold and empty. Sherlock then stood up straight and loomed over him. He was just a shell now. After all of the horrible things Oliver had put him through, both in earlier life and the present, Sherlock hated him. That is until he thought of Mary and a calmness washed over him, making him smile fondly.

“You can forgive him, you know, Sherlock.”, Mary told him.

She was sat against the wall, not too far away, her knees pulled up to her chest casually. She was wearing what she always did. Her jeans. Her grey top. Her blazer. Her white trainers.

“I know, Mary. But only if you forgive me. I have taken your man, your daughter… I let you die.”, Sherlock told her.

“I will always forgive you, Sherlock. Always.”, Mary smiled. Sherlock smiled in reply, and then looked to Oliver. When he glanced back at the wall, Mary had gone.

Sherlock leant down and knelt. He leaned right in, and whispered, “I forgive you.”, before placing a soft kiss to Oliver’s already cold head and leaving without looking back. He felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

Sherlock made his way through the crowd of people outside to find his family by the ambulances. Molly was in one with Greg and Rosie was in the other with John. Mycroft was standing outside, so he could see what was going on with his friend and his niece.

Knowing Molly was safe in Greg’s hands, Sherlock climbed into the ambulance with his daughter in it, who was now passed out on a mix of exhaustion and pain relief for her arm (which was definitely broken, according to the paramedic).

“Hi, love.”, John smiled, before greeting Sherlock with a kiss.

“Hi. How is she?”, Sherlock asked, sitting next to John and placing his hand over his daughter’s.

“Well, she has a broken arm. A gash on her face, which won’t need stitches. And, she has two broken fingers, on the same side as her broken arm. And three suspected cracked ribs.”, John told Sherlock.

“I’ve forgiven Oliver, John.”, Sherlock told him simply.

John was confused, and even felt a little bit angry at that. “Why?”, he questioned.

“Because Mary told me to. She said I could. And she was right. I found that I could forgive him. I couldn’t let him win. After everything he has done. He didn’t deserve to win. I won’t let him hurt me any further by me getting upset or angry at what he’s done.”, Sherlock explained.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say, Sherlock. You’re a better man than I ever could be. It’s one of the reasons I love you.”, John smiled.

“I love you too.”, Sherlock grinned, before kissing John softly and then pulling away to watch his daughter’s chest move up and down, so he knew she was definitely breathing.

Mycroft then popped his head in and said, “They’ve just taken Molly to Edinburgh Royal Infirmary. She has a couple of fairly deep gashes, here and there, but they’re mainly concerned about the baby, what with her only being 9 weeks pregnant.”

“Thanks for letting us know, Mycroft.”, John smiled.

“How is my little mouse?”, Mycroft asked them.

“She’ll be okay. A few breaks and a couple of bruises and gashes here and there.”, John told him.

“Are they taking her to the Royal Infirmary too?”, Mycroft asked.

“Yes. She’ll need her arm in a cast, after all.”, John said.

“Well, brother dear… It seems that you’ll have to do a lot of fetching what with John and Rosie both having bust arms.”, Mycroft smiled.

“If Rosie isn’t careful with her cast, I’ll end up with a bust nose.”, Sherlock replied.

The paramedic then climbed into the back and allowed both Sherlock and John to stay with Rosie, considering the situation. Rosie was taken to the hospital and both Rosie and Molly were out and on the mend within a week, just in time for them all to travel back to London. Due to the trying time they’d had whilst they were away, Mycroft had chartered a private jet to fly them from Edinburgh to London. Rosie was extremely excited by this and couldn’t stop thanking her Uncle Mycroft for taking her on a plane.

When they got home, Mrs Hudson was ready with tea and biscuits, which the Baker Street Boys were grateful for. As they drank their tea, they filled Mrs Hudson in on what had happened. John looked out of the window of the living room, as Sherlock dozed on the sofa and Rosie played with her hedgehog toy, and he smiled. Home. Baker street had felt so far away when everything took a turn for the worse, up in Edinburgh. Although, John had enjoyed getting away from London, at the same time. The little family that they had formed was perfect. It was unconventional, untraditional and strange to most, but it was just right to him. And John couldn’t wait for their family to grow even further when Molly’s baby was born. The scare of the Oliver situation had been sorted. Mycroft had got it so that nothing was going to happen to Molly and Molly had received an anonymous donation of £50,000 to go towards the baby. Mycroft didn’t say who it was from but it was clear he knew. Sherlock had told John it must have been Oliver’s family, due to the trouble he had caused (not only by kidnapping her but also risking the life of her unborn child) and probably as a thanks for getting rid of such an awful person.

That night, it felt weird as Sherlock led John into his room, after putting Rosie to bed upstairs. Sherlock sat down on the edge of his bed, pulled John down onto his lap and nuzzled his face into John’s neck, making John smile.

“You don’t understand how long I have wanted to bring you in here with me.”, Sherlock murmured, pulling away slightly so he could look at John.

“Really?”, John asked.

“Really, really.”, Sherlock replied, before pulling John down into a soft kiss that quickly escalated into more as John moved so that he was now straddling Sherlock.

“John, I…”, Sherlock whispered.

“Ssh… I know. We don’t have to do anything. Don’t worry. Just hold me?”, John asked.

They then got changed into their night clothes and snuggled down into the duvet and fell asleep peacefully, without having to worry about Rosie or Molly or a case. They could just enjoy each other.

The next morning, John was making tea and Rosie was sat in the living room watching Peppa Pig on Netflix. Sherlock came up behind John, wrapped his arms around him and placed a kiss in the crook of his neck, as John snuggled back into him.

“Good morning, love.”, Sherlock said.

“Morning… Tea?”, John asked.

“That would be perfect.”, he smiled, before placing a kiss in the same place he had earlier and joining his daughter in the living room.

John was amazed at how touchy-feely Sherlock could actually be. When they had first met, Sherlock had barely looked at John. John had always fought for Sherlock’s attention, with crime solving taking the number one spot in Sherlock’s life. Now, it seemed as though crime solving was on the back burner. Sherlock was no longer shooting walls or yelling when he didn’t have a case. Instead, he would quietly occupy himself with other things. He would play with Rosie. Or, he would read something that would widen his knowledge. Or, he would find something else to occupy himself with whilst John pottered around the flat and Rosie played or napped.


	16. Epilogue

Two years passed, and Rosie had started primary school. Molly had given birth to a gorgeous baby boy, which she had named Scott Hamish Hooper. He was a gorgeous little thing, who John, Sherlock, Greg and Mycroft were all Godfathers of. Mycroft had seemed to take the small child under his wing, babysitting him when everyone was busy with a case, and he was just doing paperwork in his office. He would leave Anthea to pick up some extra paperwork, or he would simply have Scott in the office with him.

The group had been on a holiday to a private island off the coast of Greece, where Rosie loved seeing the sea, and Molly enjoyed the break, as a new mother, where she constantly had help from people who could watch Scott for an hour or so whilst she actually slept. They had returned even closer than they’d ever been, as a unit, than they’d been before.

On bonfire night, Rosie was taken to a bonfire/ firework display by her Uncles and Aunt, with her new little cousin, who she was thrilled about and never stopped talking about, leaving just John and Sherlock. They were having a date night, with a dinner and then a romantic stroll around St James’ Park. John was excited. It had been a while since it had been just the two of them, even though Rosie was a star and let them have their space when she knew that they wanted it.

After their meal, which Sherlock had been acting strange all the way through (which John shrugged off as he was thinking about their recent case), the pair left Angelo’s and began their walk to the park. On their way there, Sherlock wrapped his arm around John’s waist, as was usual when they were walking, and pulled him close. The cold November air bit at John’s cheeks but he was warm with happiness, the smile present on his face.

They got to the park and walked in a comfortable silence, until Sherlock stopped at a bench, looking towards Buckingham Palace. It didn’t go unnoticed, by John, that it was the same bench they’d sat on all of those years ago, on the case with Bainbridge, the sailor who was being stalked. That made John smile even more.

Sherlock looked so nervous, which made John look at him questioningly, but Sherlock just shook his head, and then they sat in a comfortable silence. All of a sudden, Sherlock stood up, directly in front of John and began pacing a little.

“Sherlock, love? Everything okay?”, John asked him.

“Of course, everything is okay. Why wouldn’t it be?”, Sherlock asked, still pacing.

“You’re pacing, love. That screams that you’re not okay.”, John almost chuckled.

“I am just… Well, I don’t know how I’m going to do this.”, Sherlock admitted.

“Sherlock, come on… Just breath and then tell me. What’s happening?”, John asked, knowing full well what was about to happen, but was giving Sherlock his moment, rather than getting over-excited before it had barely begun.

“Okay… So, John. My John Watson. A few years ago, on this day, I thought I was going to lose you. I’d had two years, on the run, away from you. I’d just got you back and then I thought I was going to lose you again. I think Mary had always known. I wanted to hate her, but couldn’t, and we became friends. Our love for you meant we found a friendship and platonic love for each other. I shot a man to save her. Well, I must admit my motives were slightly more selfish because I knew that I’d be saving you and the unborn Rosie by doing so. Then, everything happened in a flash… Rosie was born. And she grew so quickly. We lost Mary. I wanted to die. But you saved me again, despite really wanting to at the time. Then Eurus… Hell. Once again. The one constant, for years now, John, had been you. Just you. People come and go; people who want to hurt us, or you, or me, or all of us. You’re always there. I know things have been crazy and will always be crazy, but it is what it is, yeah? And what it is, is ours. Always. And forever. Me and you together. The Detective and His Blogger. So, John Hamish Watson, will you marry me?”, Sherlock asked, getting down on one knee and producing a ring.

John was in tears before Sherlock had even asked the question, but replied, “Of course I will, you daft git. Now get up off the cold floor. You’re not getting any younger and the frost is setting in…”

Sherlock, laughing a little, stood, before placing the ring on John’s finger. It was a perfect fit, of course. It would if it was from a Holmes, after all. Sherlock then pulled John close and kissed him tenderly, both men smiling into the kiss and giggling a little. They then went home, knowing that Rosie was staying the night in the Lestrade-Holmes household (they’d got married and Rosie had been a very excited bridesmaid), and they had the most sensational sex that John had ever had. Sherlock had really gone all out for the special occasion, as John always found sex with Sherlock extremely satisfying.

Rosie was been dropped off the next day, after she had been taken to school in her Uncle Mycroft’s sleek car (which had made her the talk of her class) and then picked up in a police squad car by her Uncle Greg (making a lot of the mum’s at the gate swoon at the sight of the silver-haired fox). As soon as she saw her Dad and Papa she knew something was different and produced a grin that reached her ears.

“So, Daddy… Did Papa finally ask you to marry him? Can I be a bridesmaid again with a pretty dress? And can Scottie come too? With Auntie Molly? And Gramps and Grandma?”, she reeled off, gaining a large smile from her Father’s.

“You told her?”, John asked Sherlock.

“Of course, I didn’t, John. She just knows these things.”, Sherlock grinned, picking his daughter up and swinging her around.

Rosie giggling as she swung around the room, before she was plonked onto the sofa.

“You haven’t answered my questions, Papa.”, she said.

“1. Yes, I did ask your Father to marry me, finally. 2. Yes, of course you be a bridesmaid again and wear a pretty dress. 3. Of course Scottie will be coming. 4. Auntie Molly is going to be a bridesmaid too, if she agrees (which I’m sure she will). 5. Finally, Gramps and Grandma would be very angry if we didn’t invite them. Of course, they will be there.”, Sherlock replied, sitting beside his daughter, before pulling her on his knee, and pulling John down to sit next to them.

Their perfect, little family had been through so much. In that moment, and for many moments after, they were together, and they were safe. And as for their future… Well. They can fight anything. They’re the Baker Street Boys. And, after all, whatever the future throws at them, it is what it is.


End file.
